


Iridescent

by futurevampiress



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Middle School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cute, Cute Kids, F/F, F/M, Feels, Fluff, M/M, OCs - Freeform, Swearing, chubby!marco, curiousness always gets the better of people, knowledge is power, punk!jean, rating will change later on cause funny awkward shit happens, shit is gonna happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futurevampiress/pseuds/futurevampiress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Marco Bodt. I am twelve years old, I have freckles and a disorder called hemophilia. I strongly suggest that when someone comes up to you on the first day at a new school and wants to be friends, you say yes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lucky Day

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fanfic where I actually know what the hell I'm doing. Since people were complaining that there are a lack of middle school AUs I decided to make one.
> 
> I tried so hard to make Marco sound like a twelve year old, and damn that was hard. I also did a research project on Hemophilia for Biology last year, and I kept my presentation so I hope it'll be as accurate as possible when it's mentioned. I have this head-canon where Marco is a huge momma's boy, so prepare for mother-son bonding time.
> 
> I have no knowledge of how a middle school works since I've never been to one, so I'm using how my elementary school functions.
> 
> So uh... enjoy, fellow Shingekis!

Moves are always big. Packing everything away, driving to your new home and then unpacking everything. There’s time to adjust and get to know people. A new school also comes with the moving part. I moved from Jinae to Trost this summer for my momma’s job. My parents waited until I finished pre-school before telling me. I guess I didn’t mind at first; I was finished school and didn’t have to worry about adjusting to a new school in the middle of the year. But then there was the fact that I’d have to say goodbye to all my friends I’ve known for those few years. I am one to cry, even if I am a boy, but it’s sort of hard not to when you’re leaving the people you grew up with. I’ve already said my goodbyes and promises of visiting when I can. None of that matters now, though. Now, it’s time to be a big boy and move forward (as my daddy always says).  
  
I notice that Trost is a lot different than Jinae in more ways than one as I’m sitting in the car. The houses don’t all look alike and aren’t clumped into subdivisions, it’s a lot greener and all the stores are really close to town. There are three pre-schools, two middle schools and one high school. Back in Jinae it took as long as half an hour to get to the grocery store and there were houses scattered _everywhere_. And there’s only one pre-school and middle school. The nearest high school is almost an hour away. There’s also a mall in Trost, unlike Jinae. We pass it as we drive behind the U-Haul truck, and it looks _gigantic_. Like—what's that word my daddy always uses when describing big things? Hmm... co-colo-colossal? I think that's the word. The Trost mall is _colossal_.   
  
The town is also littered in restaurants; McDonalds, Apple Bees, Burger King, East Side Marios, Pizza Hut and even Olive Garden. Momma would love that place. She has a thing for salads. Me on the other hand, I'm a fast food person. Maybe that's why my tummy sticks out; because I eat so much greasy food.   
  
I'm getting tired. I tried sleeping on the way, but the roads were too bumpy. It's really hot too, but if I open my window it's too cold. My seatbelt is too tight on my waist and it’s scratching my neck. This car ride sucks. We've been driving for hours, and I just want to get to our new house already.   
  
"Momma, are we there yet?"  
  
Momma looks at me from the passenger seat and smiles. She has her black hair up in a ponytail, and the wind coming in from her window is messing it up pretty bad. I can see the freckles along her neck and on her shoulders. I get my freckles from her.   
  
"We're almost there Marco, sweetie," she says in her thick Romanian accent. "Just a little bit longer."  
  
Momma was born in Romania and lived there until she was nineteen. She moved to Karanese in America to go to an art school. She loves painting, and I'm her favourite thing to paint for some reason. She said something about my face being "adorable" and "delicate", I don't know. There's nothing really special about my face. It's just freckles, eyes, eyebrows, a nose, mouth and ears. Everybody's got 'em. I don't know how I stand out from the rest.   
  
Momma met my daddy at an art show a few months after she moved. She was showing her painting of a man playing a piano, and daddy was there looking to buy something. He's interested in stuff like that; statues, paintings, sculptures and all that other artsy stuff. He liked my momma's painting the best, so he wanted to meet her since she was the artist. Daddy said he almost fell to his knees once he saw momma. He said that momma was so pretty that he felt overwhelmed and couldn't take her beauty. That seems a little silly though. Momma _is_  pretty, but daddy didn't have to drop to his knees. He'd just look silly.   
  
The first thing daddy wanted to say to momma was that her painting was beautiful, but fumbled his words and said that _she_  was beautiful instead. From that point on they liked each other I guess. They wouldn't get married and have me if they didn't like each other, right? They got married and moved to Jinae when momma finished school and had me a year later. I was named after my momma's dad, who died of prostate cancer when she was fifteen. I was named Marco in memory of him.   
  
While my momma is the best artist, my daddy's the best driver. Except for when it comes to curvy roads. He turns too hard and nearly tips the car over. I love my daddy, but his driving makes me sick sometimes. Like right now.   
  
Daddy just made another hard left turn, and my seat belt is suffocating me. It's making my stomach hurt, and I wanna take it off. I know I'm not allowed to do that, so instead I loosen it and cover my mouth with my hand. It's times like these that I appreciate the cool air on my face.   
  
"You alright buddy?"  
  
I see daddy looking in the rear-view mirror at me, and I shake my head.   
  
"Just hang in there, Marco. We're almost there."  
  
"That's what momma said before!"   
  
"And your mother was right. I promise ya bud, we're nearly there."  
  
"Okay."  
  
My daddy's Belgian. He's got short brown hair and glasses. He wears suits all the time for work and speaks in French to momma sometimes. He said he was raised to be "a proper gentleman" and to always be nice to girls. Since he married momma I guess it worked.   
  
"Momma, could you put your window up please? It's too cold."  
  
I see momma nod her head and I hear the window go up.   
  
"Thank you," I say.   
  
"Marco honey?"  
  
"Yes momma?"  
  
"We're here."  
  
I smile wide and press my face up against the window. There are big houses all sitting beside each other, and they all look different. The car stops, and I undo my seatbelt before hopping out. The air is warm on my face, and I wander around to the back of the car to open the trunk. Once the lid is up my backpack falls out and lands on the gravel. I pick it up, and I ask momma which house is ours.   
  
"It’s this one right here Marco," she says, pointing behind her. "The one with the white mailbox in the front."  
  
I look behind her, and I see a big red-bricked two-story house with a white mailbox in the front, just like momma said. There's a stone path leading to the front door too. The outside looks nice, but what's on the inside is what matters.   
  
Without hesitation, I sprint down the pathway and go to open the door. When I turn the handle though, it doesn't open. Must be locked. I turn around, and I see my parents unloading the car and the U-Haul drivers opening up the back of their truck. I go back to daddy and ask if he has the key.   
  
"Daddy, the house is locked."  
  
"I'll be there in a minute Marco," he says. "Just let me unload the car and then we can go in."  
  
"Do you need any help?"  
  
"That'd be a great help, son."  
  
Daddy smiles at me and hands me a box to carry to the house. The box is labeled "Marco", and I smile when I see my favourite blanket through the holes in the side. I've had that blanket ever since I was a baby, and surprisingly I've never lost it. I always kept it where I know I'd find it: folded on my bed.   
  
I go back to the front door and sit down on the porch as I wait for my parents to join me. I look around, and there are not many people outside. There's a lady with a stroller on the sidewalk, followed by a couple holding hands. The couple looks over at us and keeps walking, but the lady with the stroller walks over to my parents. Momma greets her first, and daddy does the same. I sigh, as I know they'll be too focused on their conversation that they'll forget about what they were doing. I get up, and once again stand beside my parents as they talk to the lady.   
  
None of them see me at first; probably because I'm so short. Momma told me not to interrupt her when she's talking with someone, so I tug on her shirt instead. I feel her hand hold onto mine, but she doesn't look at me yet. The lady looks at me, and that's momma's cue to introduce me.   
  
"Raelyn, this is our son Marco," she says. "Marco, can you say hello to Mrs. Theodorou?"  
  
"Hi," I say shyly. I'm never good with meeting new people. I guess I'll have to get over that when school starts.   
  
"Hello Marco," she says, kneeling beside her stroller. "This is my thirteen month old daughter, Layla."  
  
Mrs. Theodorou pulls back the top part of the stroller, and I see Layla sleeping with a Hello Kitty blanket. All babies look the same to me; hairless with a squishy face. Layla is no different. But babies are cute though. When they're not screaming and crying anyways.   
  
"Mrs. Theodorou is our neighbour, Marco," momma says. I just nod my head, not knowing exactly how to respond. Thankfully I don't have to.   
  
"Well, we should get going," Mrs. Theodorou says. "It's time for Layla's nap."  
  
' _But she's already sleeping._ '  
  
"It was nice meeting you, Raelyn," daddy says. He looks down at me and nods his head in Mrs. Theodorou's direction. Daddy usually does that when he wants me to say something. When I don't get what he wants me to say, he mouths "nice meeting you".   
  
"Oh, i-it was nice to meet you, Mrs. Theodorou," I say while looking at the ground.   
  
"It was nice meeting you too, Marco," she says. "I'll see you guys later."  
  
And at that she stands up and pushes her stroller along the sidewalk and up her driveway. She goes inside, and I am completely focused on getting into my new house.   
  
"Can we go in our house now, daddy?" I ask.   
  
"Sure thing bud," he says.   
  
"Finally!"  
  
I race back to the house, pick up my box and bounce on my heels as I wait for daddy to bring the key to open the door. Why does he have to be so slow? Eventually his slow-poke pace makes it to the door and he jabs the key into the keyhole and the door flies open. I push past daddy and the first thing I see are stairs.   
  
It's a huge staircase made out of wood. They must lead to the second floor. Farther to my right is the kitchen, and on my left is probably the living room, given how big the empty space looks and there’s a fireplace in the wall. I kick off my shoes and take my box with me up the stairs. When I reach the top, I can either go right or left. I choose to go left first. When I reach the end, I open a door that leads into a huge empty room. There are three windows: one that looks into the backyard, one that has a view of the side of Mrs. Theodorou's house and one that faces the front yard. There's a walk-in closet too.   
  
' _Must be a bedroom._ '  
  
I set my box down and walk back out, and as soon as I do I hear momma yell.   
  
"Marco?! Where are you?"  
  
I go to the top of the stairs, and I see her looking left and right frantically. She acts so silly sometimes. She saw me go inside, so she shouldn't be so worried.

"I'm up here, momma," I call from the stairs. She stops her looking and seems relieved when she sees me.  
  
"Marco honey, don't do that," she laughs. "Let us know where you're going before running off like that."  
  
"Sorry momma," I apologize. "I'm just checking out things upstairs."  
  
"Anything good?" she asks walking up the stairs.   
  
"Well there's a bedroom down this hall," I say pointing to my right.   
  
"Oh really? Let's have a look then."  
  
I go back to the room with momma following, and she whistles once she walks in. I go and stand in front of the back window. Our backyard is huge too. It's fenced in, and there are two big trees at the very back. I turn back around, and momma's staring at me with her hands on her hips. Is she mad at me? I hope not. Momma is scary when she's angry.   
  
"Marco?"   
  
She even sounds angry.   
  
"Y-Yes?"  
  
"Do you like this room?"  
  
I wasn't expecting that. I look around, and it seems like a good room to have.   
  
"Yes, actually," I say.   
  
Momma smiles and crosses her arms. She walks in front of me and kneels so she's face to face with me.   
  
"Do you want this to be your room, Marco?"  
  
"Yes!" I reply excitedly.   
  
"Then it's all yours."  
  
"Really?! Thanks momma!"  
  
I wrap my arms around momma and hug her tight and she hugs me back. When we separate I open my box and take out my blanket. I wrap it around myself and run around my new bedroom. Momma laughs as I circle around her, and I stop when I get too dizzy.   
  
"Do you want to paint your room a new colour, Marco?"  
  
I look at the walls, and the current colour is navy blue. I think about it, and I decide to keep the colour. I like dark colours, and I’ve never had my room this dark before. 

"I like it like this," I say to her.   
  
"Alright, if you're sure. I'm gonna go get your daddy so we can set up your things."  
  
"Okay!"  
  
Momma leaves, and I'm left alone to do whatever I want while I wait for daddy to bring me my things. 

* * *

At the end of the day, I have my bed and dresser set up in my room and momma and daddy have their bed and dresser in theirs. They're down the hallway from my room. There are some utensils and appliances in the kitchen, a table and chairs in the dining room, furniture and the tv in the living room and the bathroom supplies in the bathroom. Momma and daddy have a bathroom connected to their room, so I get the bathroom next to my room. We have a downstairs too, but there's nothing much we can do with it yet. It's completely empty, cold and has a cement floor. There's a full bathroom too. Daddy says he'll make it his "man cave". He says he'll put a big screen tv on the wall and install a bar and put in a pool table. I don't know where all the money's going to come from. We have money, but we're not that rich.   
  
I'm currently sitting in my room on my bed, reading one of my favourite books. It's almost six, and we should be eating soon. Momma said we're having mashed potatoes and boneless chicken. Not exactly my favourite supper, but I like it nonetheless. I bookmark my spot in my book and close it. I look around my room, and take in everything. My bed is under the window facing the backyard, my dresser is against the wall beside me, a bedside table is on the either side of my bed, my clothes are in my closet and my full body mirror is by the window that faces Mrs. Theodorou's house. Other than those things my room is empty.   
  
"Marco! Time for dinner!"  
  
I slump out of bed and skid down the stairs as I take a seat at the end of the dinner table. I can smell both the potatoes and chicken, and my mouth waters when I see momma and daddy carry them out and place them in the middle of the table. Once momma and daddy sit down next to each other we say grace and then start eating. My parents are the kind of people who talk about their day during supper, but they both look too tired from bringing everything into the house to say a word. I on the other hand, am relaxed and full of energy. And for once, I actually want to talk during dinner.   
  
"So," I begin. "How was your guy's day?"  
  
Momma looks up from her plate and smiles as she shakes her head in the way she does when I know that she's about to say something sarcastic.   
  
"Oh just lovely, my freckled child," she says, shoving some chicken into her mouth. "Nothing beats hauling in heavy and dusty pieces of furniture into a brand new house."  
  
I nearly choke on my potatoes as I laugh at her response, and I see daddy smile too.   
  
"Sounds like fun," I comment.   
  
"It probably would've gotten done faster if you helped us, bud," daddy says to me.   
  
"I can't carry things that heavy," I point out. "Remember me trying to carry your stereo up the stairs to your room? I nearly fell over."  
  
"You know I would've caught you," he says.   
  
"Yeah yeah I know," I say. "That would've saved me from having to go to the hospital. I would prefer  _not_  to spend my very first night at our new house at a hospital I've never been to before."  
  
"As would we," daddy says.   
  
I've got a disorder called hemophilia A. According to momma, hemophilia is when my cuts bleed longer than a normal person. Like, if I get a paper cut there would be more blood than necessary and it would bleed for a long time. I have the severe version of the condition, which is what a majority of the people have. Momma and daddy first found out about it two years ago when I fell over and hit my elbow on the ground at school. It hurt really badly, and it started to swell. It wasn't a normal swelling either, because it wouldn't stop. I was rushed to the hospital by my parents after the principal called them, and after the doctor checked me over and gave me a shot of something he wanted to do a blood test. I don't mind needles so I was okay with it. When the tests came back the doctor said that my factor eight count was low. Whatever that meant. Apparently, it's a protein in my blood and there's not enough of it. It's because of that that I have the disorder.   
  
The doctor recommended that I exercise regularly, since strengthening my bones and muscles will protect me somewhat. He also mentioned that I can have this tube implanted into my chest that'll send the missing protein to my blood. My parents didn't want that, so instead I have daily injections (which I usually take two to three times a week; and of course for emergencies). It doesn't hurt that much, though. It just stings a little and doesn't take that long and I have to make sure I watch myself 'cause it gets sore afterwards.   
  
It's been a rough two years since I was diagnosed with my disorder. Momma got all frantic and insisted that she have someone at school watch over me to make sure I didn't hurt myself. I was limited in what I could do during gym, since some of the things we did involved hard balls and other methods of someone accidentally getting hurt. I had to sit out for a bunch of things, mostly because I myself was scared of seriously injuring myself so badly. Hemophilia is a serious thing, and on some occasions it can be fatal. The school nurse was supplied with my factor eight protein, just in case. Luckily, I didn't have to use it.   
  
Daddy gets up from the table and goes into the kitchen to wash his plate out. Momma is nearly finished and I'm still working on my chicken. It's a tad bit dry, so it's making it hard to cut it apart with my knife. After numerous attempts at trying to dissect the piece of poultry, I give up and start to eat my potatoes. I never really liked chicken anyway. Once I finish those, I get up from my seat to go dump my remains in the trash when momma stops me.   
  
"Marco honey, you have to eat your chicken," she says. 

"But it's not cooperating with me!" I say. "It won't let me cut it."  
  
"Well then would you like me to chop it up for you?" she asks. I know that if I say "no" she's going to do it anyways. So I sit back down and hand my plate to her as she begins to jab her knife into the chicken and tear it open.   
  
She manages to cut the whole thing into smaller pieces, and I sigh as I put my hand on my face and continue eating. I don't think I'll be able to finish this. My appetite is dwindling and it's cold. Momma's already finished and goes into the kitchen to put her plate in the sink. I wish we had a dog; then I could feed my leftovers to it instead of me scarfing it down. Daddy is allergic to dogs unfortunately, and momma isn't a big fan of having animal fur on the couches and scratches on the floor. I tried to convince them to let me have a cat, or even a smaller animal like a hamster or something but they weren't buying it. I guess I'll have to wait until I grow up and have my own house that I can have all the pets I want.   
  
When half of my chicken is eaten I put my utensils on my plate and shove it away. I am not eating any more. I'm full anyways, so shoving the rest of it down my throat would only make me have a stomach ache. I get up from my chair and grab my plate as I enter the kitchen. Momma and daddy are still in there; daddy's making some coffee while momma's making tea. Daddy is standing in front of the garbage under the sink, so I have no idea how I'm supposed to get past him without him seeing my uneaten food. Daddy doesn't like wasting food; I've had the unpleasant experience of knowing that back when I threw out a half-eaten piece of pizza and daddy scolded me for it. I didn't know what else to do with it, so I had little a choice. I know better now than to waste food, but I can't help it when I can't eat any more than I can handle.   
  
So instead, I slide my plate on top of the counter and begin to walk away. I know momma won't say anything because she knows when I'm at my limit. Daddy on the other hand won't stand for it though.   
  
"Marco?" I hear him call.   
  
I stop where I am and lick my lips as I turn back around. He's standing with his arms crossed and he looks upset. I have a feeling I don't want to hear what he has to say.   
  
"Yes?" I answer.   
  
"You know I don't like it when you don't finish your food," he says. Yup. I definitely don't like it at all.   
  
"But if I eat the rest I'll feel sick!" I point out. "And I don't really like chicken anyway..."  
  
He doesn't answer me then. He sighs visibly and nods his head as he walks towards me and kneels in front of me. He pushes his glasses up his nose and holds his hands together.   
  
"What food do you know you can eat without feeling sick afterwards?" he says.   
  
Huh. I wasn't expecting that. I look to the floor and think of all the foods I can eat that won't end up having me with my head in the toilet afterwards. I do like quesadillas. And pasta. And on the rare occasion steamed vegetables. I don't know why but they always seem to taste better when they're hot. The cold doesn't do them any justice.   
  
"Pasta," I say. "And pizza, and quesadillas and steamed veggies and rice."  
  
"Would you like to have one of those for dinner tomorrow then?" daddy asks. I smile at that. 

"Yes please!" I beam.   
  
"Okay then buddy," he says. "Which one will it be?"   
  
"Hmmm..."  
  
Since I mentioned them I want them all. I know daddy wouldn't agree to that, so I have to choose the best one. When situations like this arise, there's only one way to solve it: eenie meenie.   
  
"One second, daddy," I say.   
  
My choices are between pizza, pasta, quesadillas, steamed veggies and rice. After my first round of eenie meenie, rice is out. Second, pasta. Third, quesadilla. It all comes down to pizza and steamed veggies. I don't think I'll even need to do a fourth round of eenie meenie. The answer is obvious.   
  
"Pizza," is my result.   
  
"Alrighty then," daddy says standing up. "Pizza it is then."  
  
"Merci, père!" I say as I wrap my arms around his legs.   
  
"Soyez le bienvenu," he replies.   
  
I like it when we talk in French. It makes me feel smart and proud of myself. I can't speak it fluently like daddy, but he taught me pieces here and there. I can form simple sentences and have conversations with other French speaking people, but only if they're not too difficult and they don't speak really fast. Then I'll have no idea what they're saying.   
  
I let go of daddy and turn around to go up to my room. When I'm at the bottom of the stairs, daddy calls out to me.   
  
"Don't stay up too late Marco!"  
  
"O-Okay?" I shout back.   
  
Why wouldn't I be able to stay up late? It's summer break! I should be able to stay up for as long as I want and sleep in afterwards. Isn't that what summer is for? Unless I have to go somewhere in the morning, then I won't stay up late. My regular bedtime is 8:30pm, excluding washing up and changing into my pajamas. Nevertheless, they're my parents and I have to listen to them. I love them, but sometimes I doubt their parenting abilities.   
  
I skip up the stairs and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face before going to my room. When I'm finished I close the door behind me and go to my room. Even though there are some big pieces of furniture in my room, it still feels empty. It needs to be filled. Fast. I pick up the unfinished book on my bed and begin reading until I fall asleep. 

* * *

I'm woken up the next morning by the sunlight coming in from the window facing the front yard. I throw the covers over my head to shield my eyes from the brightness. It's hot this time of year, so I usually just sleep with a sheet and my precious blanket. Sleep doesn't come to me, so I throw my covers off and stretch as I sit up. It's 8:39am according to the digital clock on my left bedside table. I usually wake up earlier than that. Since I have nothing better to do, I hop out of bed and go to the bathroom. I pull the stool out from under the sink and stand on it to look at myself in the mirror. I have a major bed-head and my eyes look purple. I yawn as I reach for my toothbrush and toothpaste. Once my two minutes (or so I think) are up, I wash my hands and face and go downstairs. My feet and legs are freezing as I walk into the kitchen. This is what I get for wearing shorts and a t-shirt to bed. Momma is sitting at the island with a cup of tea, and daddy is making his coffee. They're both dressed in nice clothes and their hair is neat and brushed. Am I missing something? Usually they're still in their wrinkly pajamas and are sporting a major bed-head. What's got them so proper?  
  
"Morning Marco, honey," momma says as I take a seat at the island.   
  
"Mornin' momma," I say, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. Daddy has his cup of coffee and joins us as well.   
  
"You ready, buddy?" he says.   
  
"Ready for what?" I reply, clearly confused about what he means.   
  
"We're going furniture shopping today, Marco," momma says. "The house is looking a little dull."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Shopping? I don't mind shopping; if it's shopping for things for me. Shopping for furniture? Not as exciting. I'm not allowed to stay at home alone yet since I'm too young, so I'll have to be dragged along as well. And the worst part is that my parents take _forever_  when deciding things. So who knows how long this will take. Certainly not the whole day, I hope.   
  
"How long will we be out?" I ask, getting up to pour myself some cereal.   
  
"Not as long as we hope it to be," daddy responds. "There'll be a few stores we'll need to stop at."  
  
Ah yes. 'A _few_ '. A 'few' stores in my parents' minds are at least 5-6. A 'few' in _my_  mind is 2-3. Just once I'd would like their definition of 'few' to match mine. I know what I'm like when I'm out somewhere for too long: I whine, I moan and I complain about wanting to go home. I strongly hope that today is _not_  going to be one of those days. I'm positive momma and daddy won't want to hear it.   
  
"When are we leaving?" I ask, sitting back down at the island while stuffing my mouth with Nesquik.   
  
"Marco, don't talk with food in your mouth," momma reminds me. I swallow and clear my throat before apologizing. 

"Sorry."  
  
"Anyway, it shouldn't be that long. About, twenty minutes maybe?" momma says. Twenty minutes? I have lots of time to get ready then.   
  
"What are we shopping for?"   
  
"More furniture for our room, your room and paint," daddy says. Furniture for me? I don't need any of that. Sure my room seems a little empty, but filling it with useless pieces of wood isn't going to fix the problem. I probably won't even use them for anything.  
  
I sigh as I eat more of my cereal, and then I groan when I remember I need to take my shot before we go. I don't mind it really; I just forget a lot and then it's too late to take it. Daddy taught me how to do it so I don't have to rely on him all the time. It's quite simple really; I attach an IV to my arm, and push the protein through the syringe and then it's in my blood. Simple as that. It's still bothersome, though.   
  
I finish my cereal and put it in the sink. I look at the clock above the window opposite the island, and it's 8:48am. I still got time to get ready. I race upstairs and throw on a pair of black jeans and a red t-shirt with a yellow smiley face with x's for eyes on the front. I take my shot as quickly as I can, and join momma and daddy. When I come back down momma and daddy already have their shoes on and are ready to go. I pull mine on and soon enough we're out the door. 

* * *

Surprisingly, today didn't go that bad.   
  
We stopped at the grocery first, and that probably took the longest. The store was pretty big, and there were people _everywhere_. I never knew a grocery store could be so busy. We stood in line for forever, and we didn't even have a lot of stuff! We eventually got out of there and then went to get all our new couches and whatnot. Momma did get things for me too, like a bookshelf and a desk for doing future homework and whatever else. I thanked her of course; that's the role of the child. To thank your mother for things you don't necessarily want on a shopping trip.   
  
"Just smile and bear it," as daddy would say.   
  
After the furniture was bought, we went back home to put them in our rooms before going out again. Momma wanted to look at paintings next. I'd say that was the most boring. She's into all those big brand name artists, like Da Vinci and Picasso and all those other ones I don't know. Some paintings I saw looked like someone just splattered random colours everywhere and called it art. I really don't understand that. I always thought art took up a lot of your time and took a heck of a long time to finish. At least, that's how momma is when she's trying to paint or draw or sculpt. She's always so focused and doesn't seem to pay any attention to anything else when she's working. I guess she can appreciate other artists' work when she sees them, 'cause they might work as hard as she does. Momma bought three paintings today, and she put one above the fireplace in the living room, one in her and daddy's room and the other one in the hallway upstairs.   
  
Once momma got what she wanted, we headed to the local Walmart to buy little things; curtains, rugs, paint and things like that. I almost got separated from my parents a couple times ‘cause I was too busy looking at all the things that peaked my interest, like books, electronics and the fish they had in tanks near the back of the store. Momma got frantic at that and insisted that I hold her hand for the rest of the time we spent in there. I did as I was told and didn’t wander off. By that time it was almost noon and I _really_  wanted to go home. I said that to daddy and he said we were basically finished. Before we went to the cashier though, daddy asked me if I wanted anything for my room. I thought for a minute, and I _did_  remember seeing something really flashy and bright. I dragged him away by his coat sleeve and led him where the rugs were. I looked up along the racks and saw what I was looking for. I pointed it out to daddy, and he smiled and grabbed it and we went back to momma. When momma saw it she laughed to herself and shook her head. Once everything was paid for we packed everything in the car and went home.

I wanted to drop dead on the floor when we got home. I was so exhausted from walking and the heat especially, since it’s the middle of July. The sun makes me tired and sweaty and annoyed. Thankfully our new house has air conditioning so it was a blessing to walk through the front door and be welcomed by the cold air blasting in my face.  
  
Momma and daddy did most of the heavy loading, of course. I could barely carry anything besides my new rug. When I left it in my room I asked momma and daddy if they wanted any help, but they said no. That didn’t bother me at all, obviously; so I stayed in my room and read the rest of my book before being called downstairs for dinner. Just as daddy promised, we had pizza. I was able to finish my meal without picking at it or shoving my plate away for once. After supper I watched tv for a few hours, washed up, said goodnight to my parents and then went to bed.

Although, I didn’t exactly go to sleep. Instead, I sat on the windowsill facing the backyard.

“Full moon tonight,” I say to myself.

There are a few clouds in the sky, slowly floating over the moon’s position and blocking its shine. I can say that I definitely enjoy the moonlight instead of the sunlight. The moonlight is dimmer and is easy to look at. The sunlight is blinding and irritating. Nighttime is also cooler than during the day, so it’s always nice to crack open a window and let the night air in. I have the window open, but not so much that I would fall out. I’m wearing a t-shirt with my boxers, and the cool air feels nice on my legs. The scent of the night air is awesome, too; it’s a very soothing and calming smell, if you could call it that. Well, _I_  think it is anyway. I would do this back at my old house; open my bedroom window and sit on the windowsill and think about things. I would think about school, my parents and how long it would take for me to fall asleep that night. And I’m thinking those exact same things right now.

School is definitely going to be the most different. A new place, unfamiliar faces and unexpected events are a given. Momma told me that everything would be fine, as she’s going to be working there as an art teacher, but it isn’t like she’ll be with me the whole day; I’ll see her when we have art, and the odd chance of seeing her in the hallways but that’s basically it. The rest of the time I’ll either be confused about where to go or be scared of embarrassing myself; the worst fears of a twelve year old boy.

I sigh tiredly and look down at my clock and see that it’s nearing 10pm.

“Oops.”

Realizing the time, I slide down from the window and close it before snuggling up underneath my sheet and favourite blanket. I usually fall asleep a few minutes after I get into bed, but this time it takes longer than that since I’m in a different house than before. I have the same bed, but the fact that I’m sleeping in a different room might be the cause of my sleeplessness. Nevertheless, I shake off my being uncomfortable and fall asleep anyhow.

‘ _I hope life will be good here._ ’

* * *

Before I knew it, the summer passed me by. I never expected it to go by so fast; but it’s probably because I did something almost every day. I helped my parents when I could when it came to simple house things, like moving furniture, cleaning and making lunch. The basement was coming along, since daddy wanted it done as quickly as possible. Momma wanted the little things done first, like painting their room (which I helped with, by the way), possible electrical problems and getting the internet and wifi working. All of that was taken care of, among other things. I played on the Wii for hours at a time, and momma and daddy would join me soon after. We visited Mrs. Theodorou a few times too for barbeques and just because. Layla slept most of the time, but when she _was_ awake she would crawl around and hold onto my legs for some reason. At least she didn’t drool on me. My friends from pre-school also came to visit me. That was a nice day. Mina, Nac, Hannah and Franz all decided to come down on the same day and I was more than excited about it. We spent the day at the mall and park, just enjoying each other’s company, as were our parents. They all left that night, and we had a big group hug before they all went home.

To my fantastic surprise, daddy asked me if I wanted a tree house. I gave no thought to it and obviously said yes (quite enthusiastically). I think that was the hardest I’ve ever hugged my daddy. The basement was put on hold until he finished it. Momma and a few workers they hired also helped with it. I mentioned that I wanted a cubby to put my things in and a mini table so I can draw or do homework or whatever I wanted to do. It was easy of pie doing those things, but the finished product wasn’t done until one week before school. I was too happy about my tree house to be worried about school things. I was reminded of it though when momma said I’d have to go with her for school shopping.

She bought the usual school things: pencils, erasers, paper, binders, a ruler, white out, pens, sticky notes, a backpack, highlighters, notebooks, tape, paperclips and a mini stapler. Wow. It sure sounds like a lot when you say it out loud. Everything was on sale so momma was pretty happy about that. I put everything in my room when we got home and spent the rest of my time reading in my new tree house.

Today is the day before school starts. I have all my school stuff packed into my bag already, my lunch is sitting in the fridge and my clothes are laid out on the end of my bed. I spent the whole day in my tree house reading. It wasn’t particularly hot out today either, which was a plus. It’s usually boiling out, and I don’t have the luxury of a pool to cool off in. Our backyard is big enough to fit one, but my parents have probably already spent enough money on me and the house stuff.

When it’s nearing sunset, I decide to go back inside. Momma has dinner ready when I went into the kitchen, and by the smell I can tell we're having pasta.

“Something smells good in heeeeeere!” I say upon entering the kitchen.

“Why thank you,” momma says behind the island.

“Is it done yet?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. So go take a seat at the table, Marco.”

I do as momma says and there’s already a fork and bowl waiting for me. Daddy’s already sitting down, reading the newspaper while he waits. Momma comes to me first, pot in hand, and pours some noodles into my bowl. She does the same with daddy and then herself. She goes back into the kitchen and brings back the pan of sauce and goes around again. Once she sits down, we say grace and begin eating. I just know they’re going to ask questions about school tomorrow.

“So, are you nervous about school tomorrow, Marco?” asks momma.

“A little,” I confess.

“And that is completely alright,” daddy says. “Just remember that you’re not the only new kid that’s gonna be there. There’ll be a lot of other boys and girls new to the school too who’ll be nervous on their first day.”

“I know,” I say. “I just don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“Don’t worry honey, you won’t,” momma comforts me. “I’ll be there if anything happens.”

“I know you will,” I smile. It’ll be a load off my chest to know that momma will be there to help me, especially if I get hurt. “There’s a nurse at the school right?”

“Of course.”

“And will they have… _it_?”

“I’ve already contacted the school and let them know of your condition, Marco. I’ll be sure to bring it with me tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

The thought of having to tell people about my hemophilia makes me feel uncomfortable. I can barely talk about it with my parents, just because I don’t like to talk about it. I even told momma and daddy not to use the technical terms around me, because I _really_  don’t like hearing it. It makes me feel weird and out of place. Thankfully they were gracious enough to not say the words in front of me. It made me feel a lot better.

“What’s the nurse’s name?”

“Mrs. Kirschtein.”

“K-Kirs-what?”

“Kirschtein,” momma repeats. “It’s German, I believe.”

“I’ll just call her Mrs. K,” I say, shoving a mouthful of pasta into my mouth.

“She’s not the only nurse, Marco,” momma says. “There’s also Miss Ral and Mr. Berner. Mrs. Kirchstein is the main nurse, though.”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

“Oh, by the way Marco, your bus will be coming around 8:15 tomorrow morning,” daddy says.

“ _That_ early?” I groan.

“It’ll be alright,” he says. “I’ll be standing at the front door seeing you off.”

“You don’t have to,” I mumble. Not that I don’t want him to, but it’s better if he doesn’t. You know. For social reasons or whatever.

“Or would you rather come with me to school?” momma says.

“I’d like that,” I say. “But I think I’ll take the bus, just to see where I can sit and see what it’s like.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” she says. “Just let me know when you want to come with me, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

Dinner went on in silence for a bit. We were all tired most likely; all chatter except for school came to a stop. I didn't mind, though. It gave me time to pace my eating and think about tomorrow. My stomach is starting to hurt just thinking about it, so I finish my pasta at a slower pace before washing up and retiring to my room to read until I fall asleep.

* * *

Momma comes into my room at 7:30am, and shakes my arm to wake me up.

“Marco, sweetie,” she whispers. “It’s time to go to school.”

I only groan in response, since I can’t find my voice to answer her. I roll over and crack open an eye and I see that she’s still kneeling beside my bed. I wipe my face and stretch my arms as I sit up, yawning in the process.

“You get washed up and dressed and I’ll get your breakfast ready.”

She kisses me on the forehead before leaving and disappearing down the stairs. 

I shove my sheet off me and strip down to put on my clothes. Daddy has a thing about looking sharp on your first day (as he is for work), so I made sure to prepare clean clothes that look nice. Well, at least what _I_  think looks nice. Khaki shorts with a white t-shirt and a green/blue diamond patterned sweater vest and of course, my black converse.

Once I’m ready, I brush and wash before grabbing my backpack and head downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. The sweet smell of pancakes wafts through my nose and makes my mouth water. I wave to momma in the kitchen and to daddy at the table. My voice is still too tired to use, and I’m not a particularly big talker this early in the morning. Momma is dressed nicely, wearing black dress pants and a red, short-sleeve shirt with her hair up in a ponytail. Daddy doesn't go to work until 8:30, so he’s still bushy-looking in his pajamas and reading glasses.

I set my bag down beside me at the table as momma brings me my pancake and syrup. I let out a weak and quiet “thank you”, and she smiles at me before going back to the kitchen to have her own pancake. Daddy only has coffee, and takes a sip every now and then. None of us talk, which I’m grateful for. I don’t know if I’d be up to small talk before I go to school. Momma and I finish our pancakes in silence as daddy flips through the morning paper. Momma and I dump our plates into the sink when we’re done and momma packs my lunch to be put into my bag. I could care less about what I have to eat, ‘cause I already know that momma packs my favourites.

“Be sure to go outside in five minutes, Marco,” momma says.

“I will,” I say.

I double check my bag to make sure I have everything: lunch, binders, pencil case. When I see that everything is there I go over to daddy to say goodbye.

“Have a good day, Marco,” he says. “Make lots of friends.”

“I’ll try,” I say as I hug him.

“And you,” he says to momma as he pulls away. “You make sure he’s safe.”

“I always do,” momma says as she walks over to him. “And I’ll be the first one there if anything happens to him.”

“That’s my girl.”

Momma bends down and kisses daddy, and I roll my eyes at the two of them. Daddy notices that and smiles as he turns towards me.

“You just wait, buddy,” he says. “One of these days you’ll be doing the exact same thing with someone _you_ love.”

I have the strongest urge to roll me eyes again, but I stop myself when I remember that I need to leave.

“Gotta go!” I say, rushing to put my shoes on and run out the door. Momma comes out right after me, getting in to her car and backing out. I move out of the way, and before she leaves she rolls down her window to talk to me.

“We’ll both have to go to the principal’s office when we get there,” she explains. “I just need to go over a few things.”

“Okay, momma.”

“Oh, and your teacher is…” She rummages through her purse before pulling out a sheet and reading it.

“…Levi,” she finally says.

“Levi?” I repeat. “What’s his last name?”

“I don’t know. It just says ‘Levi’,” she sighs. “His room number is 201, on the second floor.”

“There’s a second floor?!”

“Three floors actually,” she says.

“Wow.”

“Okay well we’ll talk more when you get to school. Right now I’ve gotta go.”

“Bye momma!”

“Bye sweetie!”

Momma blows a kiss at me and rolls up her window before pulling out of the driveway and zooming down the street. My bus comes a few minutes later, squealing to a stop. I look behind me before getting on, and I see daddy standing at the front door raising his coffee cup at me. I smile awkwardly and step onto the bus. The bus driver smiles at me, and I smile back politely, muttering a “good morning”.

“Good mornin’ to you too, darlin’,” she says.

I blush a little at that, not used to being called those names by a stranger. I nod my head shyly and take a seat a few rows back, near the middle. There are not many kids on, so that’s a little reassuring. Nobody really talks in the morning anyway so…

We make a few more stops, but I’m too busy looking out the window to take notice of who else comes on. The bus is quiet and peaceful and I’m grateful for that. We arrive at school at 7:42 according to my watch, and the first word I think of when I see the school is “what”.

Momma wasn’t lying when she said there were three floors. This place is huge. The school’s name, “Queen Sina Public Middle School” is plastered on the front of the school in big block letters. There are a lot of other kids crowded around the front double doors. How am I supposed to wait there if there are a bunch of kids blocking the way? I guess I’ll just sit on the stairs.

I sit on the top steps, waiting patiently for momma to arrive. Momma’s car is a grey Buick, so I keep my eyes open for a nice, small, shining grey car. I haven’t memorized her license plate yet, so I’ll just have to look for her face when she gets out of the car.

All the kids that go inside ignore me as I sit on the steps, thankfully. I’m not ready to start socializing with any people I don’t know yet. Soon enough I see momma across the parking lot, her ponytail being whipped around in the wind. I stand up and wave to her, jumping up and down and calling out her name. I get a few weird looks from the other kids, but I ignore it as best I can. She notices me and waves back as she hauls her bags in her arms as she begins to walk towards me.

“We meet again,” she says as she joins me on the steps. I hug her legs, since I’m still too short to reach her waist.

“Alright, my dear. Let’s go inside.”

“Okay!”

The only thing I see when we walk through the double doors is a circle of benches in the middle of the foyer. In the centre of the benches is what looks like a mini-fountain, which I find strange. Why would there be a fountain in a middle school? Well, it’s not my place to say, I guess. I didn’t make the school nor did I decide what was going to be put inside of it. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’d mind having a fountain. It seems fun and unique, especially since it’s on the _inside_ of the school. The only other things in the foyer are two vending machines mounted against the wall. Everything else is just doors on my left and right with the name of whatever room it is; the cafeteria, nurses’ office, the gym, bathrooms, the teacher’s lounge, the main office and the principal’s office. That’s where momma and I go.

Momma knocks on the door, and I hear a deep voice call “Come in”, and we do. I stay behind momma as we go in, and I see a man stand up from his desk to shake momma’s hand. He’s huge to say the least; he’s probably bigger than my daddy. He’s got blond hair with an undercut (like me!) and eyebrows that I’ve never seen on a person before; they’re short at the sides but bush together in the middle. He’s also got on one of those weird necklace-tie thingys. A bull tie? I don’t remember. Other than that he looks pretty plain in his white dress shirt and black pants. I see on his desk is a name plate, labeled “Erwin Smith”.

Momma and Mr. Smith (I’m assuming) talk a bit before turning their attention on me. My heart skips a beat out of nervousness as Mr. Smith looks down at me and smiles, and I instinctively take a step back as he walks around his desk towards me.

“Hello, Marco,” he greets me. “Welcome to Trost.”

I look up at momma, and she smiles and nods her head in Mr. Smith’s direction. I turn back to him and he has his hand out for me to take. I slide my tiny hand into his hesitantly, and he smiles even more as I shake it.

“Thank you,” I mumble, looking away.

He stands up straight to talk to momma again, so I leave the office and sit on one of the benches and wait for her. There’s a clock above the front doors, and according to that it’s ten minutes until class starts. I twiddle my thumbs together as I wait. The foyer is empty mostly, except for a few adults standing around. About a minute later this kid comes bursting through the front doors, face shining with sweat. The woman that comes in after him I’m guessing is his momma, since she smacks him over the head lightly while saying “No more sleeping in for you, mister!” but the kid doesn’t even seem to hear her or react to the head smack. Instead, his eyes are focused elsewhere. On _me_ to be precise.

My eyes go wide when I realize he’s staring at me, and I turn my head in the other direction to avoid any more awkwardness. When I peek over, he’s still looking at me, and he’s smiling a whole lot. I hang my head and cross my arms nervously, and I turn my body away from him when I see he’s walking towards me.

‘ _I wish momma was finished already._ ’

I realize the boy is standing in front of me when I see his feet planted in front of mine, and I look up to see his beaming face. I noticed on my way up that he’s wearing converse shoes like me, but they’re red instead of black. He’s wearing black jeans for pants and a red and black plaid shirt with a white undershirt. And to top off his punkish look, he’s got a black baseball cap on backwards. How intimidating.

I still have my arms crossed and I hang my head again as he extends his hand. I glance at it before looking back at his smiling face. It seems comforting, despite his bold attire.

“My name’s Jean. Jean Kirschtein.”


	2. Please Be Friends with Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My name is Jean Kirschtein. I am eleven years old, hot-tempered and have a reputation of being a troubled child. When you see a freckled loner boy on the first day of middle school, I highly suggest you make friends with him; ‘cause it just might be the best decision you ever make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Already, just like I promised. Here is Jean's POV!
> 
> Note to self: always, /always/ write during your spare. 'Cause then you get shit done.

People say that your family is always gonna be there for you; when you’re hurt, feeling down or just to have company around. That they’re supposed to love you no matter what, and that they’ll accept you for who you are and what you want to do. Whoever thought that must’ve had a major screw loose.  
  
My family is like that in some ways, but definitely not 24/7. My big brother Farlan is seventeen and is in high school; he’s going into grade twelve after the summer is over. People say that we’re alike in more ways than one: our hair colour, our rowdy attitude and our habit of constantly peeping into other people’s lives. It’s not _totally_ wrong; I mean our hair colour is almost the same. Farlan’s more of a dirty blond, while I’m closer to a light brown-ish colour. His hair is all messy and out of place and mine is short and straight. As for our attitude and peeping business, that’s all Farlan. He’s the one that acts all high and mighty and bugs people about their life. Since he does that, people just assume that I’m the same because of ‘family genetics’ or whatever. I’m a pretty closed-off person, so I don’t usually act like he does. It’s only when he’s _around_ that I act somewhat the same way.  
  
Farlan, for the most part, is an okay brother, if it means that he’s getting something in return. He’s somewhat supportive too, since he comes to my piano recitals (although I’m not sure if he does it willingly). Even though he bugs me all the time, he’s still my brother; but being blood related doesn’t mean family. Family is exactly as I explained before: being there for each other when you need them and being accepted. Farlan is there for me sometimes, like when he notices that I’m upset about something and he knows that he wasn’t the cause of it. It’s in those times that I am grateful for having an older sibling.  
  
My parents on the other hand, are a whole different story. My dad is a magazine editor, so he wears suits all the time and brings his work home with him. He’s always so preoccupied with his work that he hardly takes any time for himself or for the rest of us. He likes to make sure that everything is perfect before any articles are published, and he often photocopies the writer’s and other editor’s stories to bring them home and go over them. Is he even allowed to do that? If he isn’t then he obviously doesn’t care. My dad isn’t very strict, but he does care about us; he just has his own way of showing it. On rare occasions he would take a few nights off from his ‘homework’ so to say, to spend time with the rest of his family. He would cook up a barbeque dinner and watch some tv with us. Those are the nicest nights because he’s not working and Farlan’s not shoving me off the couch or giving me a wet willy.  
  
My mom is a registered nurse at the middle school I’m going to after the summer. Yippee. I don’t mind it; just as long as I don’t have to see her all day. Unless I break my arm or get food poisoning, she and I won’t be crossing paths anytime during school. She’s the most hardworking in my family, and she gets tired easily. For now she’s taking time off from her job as a nurse at the hospital to take care of us, ‘cause God knows what would happen if she wasn’t here all the time. I’m not old enough to stay home alone, and she doesn’t exactly trust Farlan as much as she should to babysit me (not like I trust him either). She cooks, cleans, does laundry, shopping and all the other things that mothers usually do when no one else will do them. I help her with the dishes sometimes, and Farlan went shopping one time and he obviously screwed up. He bought the wrong brands and didn’t buy enough of what was needed. He was probably distracted by a pretty girl he has no chance with, like he always is. Our mom thanked him nevertheless, and he never had to go grocery shopping ever again. Whenever she’s not doing mom things, she usually reads in her room or listens to me play the piano. That’s her way of bonding with me; by listening to the most awesome musical instrument being played by the most awesome son.  
  
My mom and dad are pretty laid back for the most part. The only time when they get frustrated or stressed is when Farlan and I are yelling at each other. Our mom is usually the one that ends it, since our dad is too busy in whatever work he’s doing. And nine times out of ten, Farlan is the one that starts it. For example, I’d be practicing a song my piano teacher gave me in a little room in front of the kitchen, and Farlan would come and steal my music sheets. I would get angry and shout at him to give them back. I never ask politely ‘cause I know he won’t give them back anyway. I’d be jumping for them while he has them in one hand above his head, taunting me. One time I kicked him in the shins to get him to stop, but obviously I got scolded at by my mom for doing it. At least I got my music back.  
  
Another annoying thing my brother does is pick at my hair while I’m trying to do something, just like he is right now.  
  
“Farlan, stop it already!”  
  
“I can’t help it, Jean. It’s just too fun.”  
  
“Mooooom, make Farlan stooooop!”  
  
“Boys, enough! Your father is trying to work!”  
  
“But―“  
  
“No ‘buts’, Jean. And Farlan, stop harassing your brother.”  
  
“Whatever you say.”  
  
“Oh, suuuure. _Now_ you stop just because mom―“  
  
“Jean, please. For your father’s sake, keep it down.”  
  
I sigh annoyingly and stomp up the stairs to my room. I close my door and take off my shirt and throw myself on my still unmade bed. I can hear someone coming up the stairs, probably Farlan, and barge into my room ever so loudly. Wow, is it National Piss Off Jean Day or something?  
  
“Whadaya want?” I ask through my pillow.  
  
“It’s your Jaeger friend, brat,” comes Farlan’s voice. “He’s on the phone.”  
  
“Give it here then.”  
  
Knowing Farlan, he’ll toss the phone to me and leave without another word. And whadaya know; he does it right now. The phone makes contact with my leg, and I groan at the feeling.  
“Thanks a lot, you idiot,” I say into my pillow.  
  
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Farlan calls.  
  
“Nothing,” I say through my teeth. “Go away now.”  
  
Farlan leaves as I sit up on my bed and take the phone in my hand and press it against my ear.  
  
“Eren?”  
  
“’Sup, Jean,” Eren says.  
  
“Oh the usual,” I say. “Annoying brother, stressed mother and a working father. Nothing you wouldn’t expect. What about you?”  
  
“Dad’s gone out,” Eren replies. “And my mom is busy with bills or whatever. Nothin’ special.”  
  
“Sounds about right,” I say. “So, whatcha callin’ for?”  
  
“Just wondering if you wanna come over and sleep―“  
  
“HECK YES!” I shout into the receiver.  
  
“Dude, whoa,” Eren says. “Chill out. Just remember your bathing suit and a towel. And whatever else you’ll need.”  
  
“Oh wait, just a sec,” I say as I leave my room.  
  
“’Kay.”  
  
I go back downstairs to the living room where my mom is folding the laundry. I look around first and smile when I see that Farlan isn’t around. I hope he went out with one of his loser friends. I hold the phone against my chest as I talk to her.  
  
“Mom?” I say. “Can I stay over at Eren’s tonight?”  
  
She looks up from her hands and gives me a weird look. I look down at myself and look away when I realize I’m not wearing a shirt. She smiles and laughs to herself before answering me.  
  
“Sure thing, Jean,” she says. “Will his mother be home?”  
  
I put the phone back to my ear.  
  
“Dude, is your mom gonna be there?”  
  
“Obviously,” Eren says. “She wouldn’t let us stay home alone. She’s afraid we’ll burn the house down.”  
  
“A simple ‘yes’ would’ve been fine, Eren,” I say.  
“Yeah, well.”  
  
“She’ll be there,” I say to my mom.  
  
“Good. I just hope that you two won’t wreak havoc and cause poor Mrs. Jaeger trouble,” she says.  
  
“Like we would do that,” I say in an accusing tone.  
  
“Mhmmm,” she hums. She gives me a smile and hands me my clean clothes.  
  
“How am I supposed to carry these?” I say.  
  
“Just put the phone on top of them,” she says.  
  
“But Eren’s still on!” I point out. That reminds me…  
  
“Hang on a sec, dude,” I say into the phone on top of my clothes pile. “I needa put these clothes away.”  
  
I don’t even check for an answer and head back up the stairs to my room. I set my clothes on my bed but don’t put them away. That can wait until later. I have more important business to attend to.  
  
“Okay, I’m back,” I say once I pick up the phone.  
  
“Laundry day?” Eren asks.  
  
“Yup,” I say. “Anyways, is it just gonna me and you?”  
  
“Armin’s coming too, if that’s alright,” Eren says.  
  
“Oh yeah, sure whatever,” I say. “Doesn’t bother me.”  
  
“Okay. So come over whenever and don’t forget anything.”  
  
“Sure thing. See ya.”  
  
“Later.”  
  
I hang up the phone and toss it beside me. _Finally_ ; a valuable excuse to get out of the house. I haven’t seen Eren since the end of school, or anybody for that matter. It’s nice to have time to yourself once in a while. I’ve talked to Eren over MSN, but other than that I haven’t seen him in person. Eren and I have known each other since we started pre-school, and honestly we haven’t always gotten along. We were little kids at the time, and sometimes little kids don’t always agree with each other. There was hair pulling, shoving, yelling and even biting at one point. After a few years though we somehow put all that behind us and became friends. I’m not even sure how it happened, but it doesn’t really matter anymore.

As for Armin, he was a quiet child. He didn’t exactly stand out besides his really blond hair. He slept like we were all supposed to during nap time, he was nice to everyone and behaved himself. Our teacher loved him, and so did the rest of the class. Eren and I befriended him after we sorted out our differences and all three of us kind of just stuck together. A girl named Mikasa also wandered into our little group a short while after; from that point on we were all inseparable. 

After putting my clothes away I grab my backpack from my closet and start packing the things I’ll need: a swimsuit, towel, pajamas, travel toothbrush, socks, underwear, a sweater and clothes for the next day. I hardly ever leave Eren’s house in the morning, since he lives the next street over. I usually stay there until I’ve overstayed my welcome or until my mom calls me to come back home. I walk there most of the time, but my mom is always worried something will happen to me. I am eleven years old; I think I am capable of handling myself thank you very much. I throw my shirt back on and haul my backpack with me as I go back downstairs. Mom’s all done with the laundry and now she’s doing the dishes. Boy, am I glad I’m leaving right now.

“Mom, I’m going now,” I say as I walk pass her to the front door.

“Just be careful, Jean,” she says.

“Aren’t I always?” I say as I turn around and smile wide.

She just shakes her head and focuses on washing the dishes. As I put on my shoes and am about to leave, I stop halfway between the doorway and ask my mom where Farlan went.

“He went out with one of his friends,” she says. “He’ll be back later tonight I hope.”

“Was it Reiner?” I ask.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what he said,” she says.

Out of all Farlan’s group of friends, I like Reiner the best. He’s huge, bigger than Farlan, and is always nice to me. He picks me up to sit on his shoulders so I can reach things on high shelves and throws me into our pool when I ask him to. Sometimes I wish he was my big brother instead of Farlan. I know it’s a bad thing to say, but Reiner is just more nice and energetic than Farlan is. You can’t help but wonder what might have been.

I make it to Eren’s house in no time, and Mrs. Jaeger answers the door when I get there.

“Good to see you, Jean,” she says as I walk in.

“You too, Mrs. Jaeger,” I reply as I kick off my shoes.

“Eren is in his room,” she tells me. “Armin should be here soon.”

“Okay, thanks,” I say.

Eren’s room is in the basement, so it’s one of the coldest rooms in the house thank god. Well, I guess it’s only a good thing in the summer. But when winter rolls around it’s the warmest room in the house, ‘cause the A/C isn’t on but the heat is. When I get down there I nonchalantly burst into his room, and find him lounging on his bed, playing Super Smash Bros. Brawl on his GameCube.

“Well hello to you too,” he says without pausing the game.

“Been a while hasn’t it?” I say as I toss my backpack onto the floor and take a seat next to him on his bed.

“Guess you could say so,” he says as he KO’s Bowser.

“How long have you been playing this?” I ask.

“A few hours, give or take,” he says.

“Aren’t your eyes burning?”

“They can manage.”

“As eloquent as ever, I see.”

“Whoa, looks like somebody swallowed a dictionary this morning.”

“Oh yeah, gotta have an equilibrium breakfast and all.”

“Stop using words when you hardly know their meaning, Jean.”

“I happen to know exactly what they mean.”

“Mhmm, yeah okay.”

After he finishes his game, he offers me a controller. I take it and we begin playing. As always, my character is Link and Eren’s is Pikachu. We would always debate which character was better, and obviously we both said our own character was better than the other. We asked Armin his opinion, but he didn’t have a say in the matter. He said it doesn’t matter which is better, it only matters what the outcome of the game is. We both know he’s right, but we would never say it out-loud. After about fifteen minutes of playing (I got KO’d two times and Eren three times), Armin wanders into the room.

“’Sup, Armin,” I say as he sits down next to me.

“Hey, Jean, Eren,” he says. “Who’s been KO’d more?”

“Eren,” I snicker.

Eren rolls his eyes, pausing the game. Before I know it, he goes back to the main menu to start a new game. I whine that I was about to KO him again, but he said it was to let Armin play. Eren is annoyingly cheeky when it comes to video games. Whenever he’s about to lose, he threatens to restart the game just so he won’t lose. Okay, maybe ‘cheeky’ isn’t the word for it. ‘Sore loser’ is more like it. Eren is the biggest sore loser I’ve ever met. Video games, tag, colours; any game that has a winner and a loser basically, is fit for Eren’s sore loser personality. When he wins though, he goes ballistic. So in short, Eren is a sore loser when he loses and a sore winner when he wins; nothing in between. The only times when Eren doesn’t act that way is when he’s too tired to celebrate or mope. Thank the lord for that.

Armin picks up a third controller and we’re at it again. Armin chooses Kirby as his character, as per usual. No matter the circumstances, no one else besides us is allowed to use our characters. Pikachu belongs to Eren, Link belongs to me and Kirby belongs to Armin. It’s a general rule among us that we aren’t allowed to choose the other’s character, no matter what. And if a fourth player or a bunch of different people altogether were to play, they’re not allowed to use our characters. We―Eren and I―would go as far as unplugging the GameCube to get our point across. Armin doesn’t really mind, him being the kind to make others happy. Still, even without Armin, Eren and I would do anything to protect our characters.

After about an hour of gaming, we all decide to go swimming. I’m the last to go in, because of my sensitivity to cold things. The water feels nice though, since it’s 27°C out. As we’re all in the deep end, Eren suggests we play colours.

“Just as long as you don’t complain when you get caught,” I say, leaning against the deck.

“I won’t get caught,” he says, shooting me a glare.

“Suuuure you won’t,” I say.

“I’ll be it first,” Armin says, getting out of the pool.

Being the smart-alecks that we are, Eren and I usually choose colours that’re either a shade or tint of a colour. Like turquoise, magenta, lemon, tangerine, navy, sepia and things like that. All of us know that the obvious colours are said first, them being the colours of the rainbow. And then black and white and grey and so on. Armin would say those colours and then turn around to see if Eren or I have begun swimming to the shallow end. Eren and I would still be in our positions, and Armin would slump down to his knees and begin again. One time he had to stand out on the lawn and come rushing back to the pool to catch us. He could’ve nearly slipped busted his arm ‘cause the deck would be so slippery. The only injuries we’ve received were a few scratches and bruises. Eren’s mom would probably cry if she found out that one of us broke something.

Armin stands with his arms crossed as Eren and I think of our colours. I decide to go with silver. Armin asks us if we’re ready, and we both say “yup”.

“Okay then,” Armin begins. “Here we go. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.”

I can tell that he wants to turn around but I think he knows better than that, given how many times he’s done that and had to go down on his knees, stomach and eventually onto the grass. This time, Armin stays where he is and continues on. Eren and I turn to look at each other, and he raises an eyebrow as I smirk at him. We keep our grips on the edge of the pool and wait for our colours to be heard.

“Cherry, tan, lime… uhm… turquoise?”

Armin can’t control himself anymore and finally turns around. When he sees that neither of us has moved, he sighs and kneels. I give Eren a look that asks him what his colour is, but he just shrugs and smiles to himself.

‘ _What colour could he possibly have picked?_ ’

Armin continues on, and I’m not sure whether or not some of the colours he says are real.

“Burgundy, uhm. Coral? Gold, silver, jade…”

The moment I hear my colour, I pull away slowly from the pool edge and being to swim towards the shallow end. When I’m halfway there I don’t care about being quiet anymore so I give it all I’ve got and don’t stop until I make it to the end. When I pop out from under the water, I turn around, only to see Armin’s sad face frowning back at me. I shrug my shoulders, and Armin proceeds to lie on his stomach. Eren faces me, like he’s ready to start swimming; Armin begins yet again, and I sit on the deck and watch from there.

I can hear Armin’s faint voice, mumbling and murmuring random colours. He might need to wrack his brain more if he wants to catch Eren when he’s swimming towards me.

“Teal… beige… amber… crimson… sapphire…”

By then Eren is already under the water, patting his way to me. Armin takes a peek, and as quickly as he can slides into the pool and begins swimming vigorously. I wouldn’t say Armin’s a bad swimmer, but he has no form at all, from what I can tell. He just splashes his arms and legs around and somehow he’s able to move forward.

Just as Eren’s able to touch the opposite end of the pool, Armin manages to yank on his ankle and pull him back. Eren’s head goes under water, and I hope he was smart enough to hold his breath. He emerges after Armin lets go and shakes his head and pounds his ear, probably to get the water out. He glares at Armin afterward, and Armin returns the look with a satisfying smile.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Eren says.

“It’s part of the game, is it not?” Armin smugly replies.

“I thought you weren’t gonna be a sore loser about it, Eren,” I remind him.

Eren pouts and looks away while Armin and I smirk at each other. Eren closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“Okay, fine. I was caught. Congrats on your swimming abilities, Armin,” he says.

I snort at his answer and Armin rolls his eyes and thanks him. Eren hikes himself out of the pool and goes to the opposite end to begin a new game of colours. It’ll be harder this time, since Eren has previous knowledge of my colour choices.

Armin and I swim to the deep end and grip the edge as Eren turns around and crosses his arms. As we think of our colours, Eren taps his foot on the deck and scowls.

‘ _Why is he so angry?_ ’

I’ve always known that Eren was a kid who had a short temper, given our pre-school history; but I have no idea where all the anger comes from. It’s like every little thing will set him off; somebody looks at him weirdly, he eats food he doesn’t want to, putting a shoe on the wrong foot, you name it. Eren’ll throw a tantrum and complain non-stop, leaving the rest of us to deal with it all the time. I remember one time he got mad at someone for saying how stupid his eyes are (he’s a heterochromiac; or a guy with two different eye colours), and later in the day he smacked me in the face for no reason; it was probably because he was still mad about what happened. Armin took Eren away to calm him down, while I rubbed my stinging cheek. He apologized two days later, and just like that we were best buddies again (And to be honest, I’m seriously jealous of Eren’s eyes. His right eye is a gold-ish colour that looks like shining honey in the sun and his left one is like a sea-green that resembles the Caribbean sea. I’d sell my brother to have eyes like that).

I almost feel bad for his parents, having to deal with his attitude all the time, but that’s why he has me, Armin and Mikasa. We’re the ones who calm him down, like it’s our jobs. One of these days there’ll be no one there to stop Eren’s rampage and then they’ll have to deal with his idiocy. But for now, we’re the ones that take care of him.

Eren asks us if we’re ready, and we give him the go-ahead. He starts with the rainbow colours and then rhymes off shades and tints. When jade is mentioned, Armin begins swimming. Unlike when he was trying to catch Eren, Armin swims quietly and quite nicely. There’s some actual form to his flopping arms and kicking legs this time.

“You’ve been holding out on us, Armin.”

Eren finally turns around, and his mouth gapes open when he sees that Armin’s already at the other end. I snicker at him and he gives me an irritated glare as he gets down on his knees to begin again. I chose periwinkle blue as my colour, and I doubt Eren will be able to get it. He doesn’t exactly have a wide imagination; well, when it comes to colours anyway. He’s pretty crafty at making these weird man-eating giants, though. They’re all naked of course, but they don’t have any junk and their faces are all creepy and messed up. I don’t even know how he comes up with these things. If only he was creative with colours; then maybe I’d be a little less weirded out.

“Chestnut, mahogany, peach, moss, teal, plum…”

Eren turns around again, and throws his arms up and shouts “Duuuude!” before grumpily lying down on his stomach. I cover my mouth to stifle my laughs before turning my body to face the opposite end of the pool. If he doesn’t say my colour, I might as well start swimming at whatever random colour he spits out.

“Chocolate, lavender, tan, periwinkle, baby blue, vanilla―”

Good enough for me.

I don’t bother being quiet about it, since I already know that I’m a faster swimmer than Eren. I hear Eren grunt and dive in after me. I’m long gone before he can even reach the middle of the pool. When he sees me sitting with Armin, he slams his hands on the water and screams with his mouth closed. I laugh at his outburst; Armin bumps my shoulder and shakes his head at me. I shrug my shoulders and look back at Eren.

He’s standing right in front of me, wearing his angry face. I open my mouth to talk but he splashes water at me before I can mutter a word. I wipe my face and spit out some water that went in my mouth. I cock my head to the side and raise an eyebrow. He doesn’t seem too happy about that, and splashes me with water again.

“Dude, stop already!” I shout.

“What the hell was your colour?!” Eren demands.

“Eren!” Armin shushes him. “Don’t say that!”

“What was it?!” Eren asks again, ignoring Armin.

“It was periwinkle―”

“I knew it!”

“―blue!”

“Huh?”

“It was periwinkle blue, idiot! But since you couldn’t get it I decided to go with periwinkle!”

“What kind of a colour is periwinkle blue?”

“Obviously a colour that’s out of your thinking ability!”

“Jean!”

“What?”

“Guys, can we just swim together? We don’t have to play colours anymore. I just don’t want to break up another fight between you too.”

Well, that shuts me up; Eren too. I often forget how Armin is always the one to put Eren and me in our places when Eren’s parents aren’t around. I lost track of how many times Armin has broken up arguments between us. Even in pre-school he was always there during one of our daily scuffles. I don’t think neither me nor Eren ever hurt Armin, even accidently. Even as small as he was he knew exactly what to say to us to calm our nerves and lower our voices. I know we’ve never said it out loud, but both Eren and I are lucky to have Armin as a friend. And he deserves to know it.

“You’re right, Armin,” I say.

“Yeah,” Eren agrees.

Armin looks away and rubs the back of his head. He gets embarrassed so easily it’s almost painful to watch. I wrap my arm around his neck and noogie his head. He looks up at me with a sad look on his face, but I smile wide.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” I say. “You’re just a really good friend.”

He blushes hard at that, and I laugh at his reaction. Eren starts to smile too, and he wraps his arms around Armin and pulls him back into the pool. Armin yelps and can’t do anything besides be squished to death by Eren.

“E-Eren!” Armin says. “You’re killing me!”

“I’m killing you with love!” Eren says. “Be grateful.”

“But―”

“No ‘buts’, Armin,” I say. “We love you and you should love us just as equally.”

“But I love him more,” Eren says.

“No, I do!”

“No, me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“M―”

“Eren I can’t breathe!”

Eren and I stop yelling about who loves Armin more and actually pay attention to Armin. His face is scrunched up so Eren decides to finally let him go. He takes a deep, needed breath and coughs a little as Eren rubs his back.

“Sorry,” Eren apologizes weakly.

“Don’t mind, don’t mind,” Armin smiles.

Before either of them have anything else to say I slip off the edge of the pool and wrap my arms around Armin’s neck. I feel him sigh, and Eren narrows his eyes at me as I tighten my grip on Armin.

“Jeaaaaaan,” Armin whines.

“No,” I say. “Eren got to hug you, so why can’t I?”

“’Cause I actually let him breathe,” Eren interjects.

“No you didn’t!” I accuse him. “Did you not hear what Armin said? ‘Eren you’re killing me! Eren I can’t breathe!’ Do ya remember that?”

“Well you’re not any better!” He points a finger at me. “Armin’s face is turning red! Go on! Look at him!”

Just to make him shut up and hope that I’m actually not choking him, I pull back and look at Armin’s face. There’s a little pink tint to it, but nothing life threatening I’m pretty sure.

“He’s fine,” I say as I face Eren, my arm wrapped around Armin’s shoulder. I see Armin look up at me and pout, but says nothing. Instead, he motions Eren to come to him; he raises an eyebrow at the request but he comes over nonetheless. Eren looks at me but I shrug my shoulders. We both look at Armin, and he looks left and right at us before wrapping his arms around Eren and me and squeezes. Eren and I bunk heads at the action, but ignore it as Armin rubs his face into our chests. He lets go just as fast as he pulled us in and smiles widely.

“There,” he says. “Now we all love each other equally.”

“I still love him more,” I whisper after a period of silence. Eren is about to retaliate but Armin stops him.

“Ah ah ah. No more ‘who loves who more’ arguments. We all love each other so let’s just leave it at that.”

“Fiiine,” Eren sighs.

“Alright,” I agree.

“Good.”

Once that was settled, we all decided to go back inside to play an assortment of games before being served our pizza dinner by Mrs. Jaeger. After that, we all smushed ourselves together on Eren’s bed and played video games well into the night until all of us eventually fell asleep.

* * *

“Jean, could you grab the plates from the kitchen please?”

“Mhmm.”

It’s been a week since I slept over at Eren’s. None of us woke up until noon, and when we did we were sleeping on top of each other. Eren has a queen sized bed, so all of us could fit on it easily. But obviously none of us took advantage of the space and instead huddled together in the middle of the night. Eren slept at the top of the bed with Armin’s head on his stomach, drool spilling onto Eren’s shirt, while I had myself curled and wrapped around Armin’s torso, my legs tangled with his. It was surprisingly comfortable. Mrs. Jaeger thought it was pretty hysterical and took a picture of us lying like that. Eren instantly protested, but forgot about it and fell back asleep a second later. Armin and I were too tired to care, and we were up and munching on breakfast/lunch ten minutes later. I left his house two hours later, and Armin before dinner; and that is exactly what I am preparing right now.

“Plates,” I say as I set them down at the table.

“Thank you, Jeanbo,” mom says.

“Yup.”

“Oh, I don’t know if your brother mentioned this to you but Reiner is coming for dinner.”

“Really?!”

“Mhmm.”

“Yes!”

Oh god now I’m _really_ excited. I haven’t been this excited since this morning when mom told me that Farlan went out for the day. And now that I know he’s gonna be bringing home Reiner… I have never wanted my brother to come home as much as I do right now. Dinner doesn’t start for another half an hour, and mom knows that Farlan likes to be early in case anybody steals any food he likes to hoard all to himself. Selfish little butt.

Well, since Reiner is coming I might as well impress him by bringing out the place mats and put a couch cushion on his chair. I’m sure mom won’t mind. They aren’t really expensive pillows, I don’t think. Besides, it’s not like it’ll get dirty; unless Reiner spills something on it. But Reiner wouldn’t do that, even accidently, so I’ll take the risk.

After everything is set on the table, and there are five chairs (Reiner’s of course with a pillow) instead of four, I spend the rest of my time watching tv until Farlan comes home, hopefully with Reiner in tow. I hear my mom gasp from the kitchen, and I smile proudly when she asked me if I did it.

“Who else would it be?” I ask. “Farlan? Definitely not. Dad? He’s in his study. And you? Well, obviously not if you’re asking me.”

“Thank you, Jeanbo,” she says. “So much.”

“No problem,” I say. “And can you not call me ‘Jeanbo’ when Reiner is here? I don’t want him to know that you call an eleven year old boy a nickname for a baby.”

“Well, alright,” she says. “But you’ll always be my little Jeanbo.”

“Yeah yeah I know.”

Right on cue, I hear my brother come through the front door, with Reiner laughing right behind him.

“I’m tellin’ ya dude,” I hear Reiner say. “Bucky would’ve totally kicked Steve’s ass if Steve hadn’t given up like that.”

“He didn’t give up,” Farlan replies. “He was trying to save him and try an’ make him remember who he is. And Steve could take Bucky any day.”

“You sure about that? I’d think otherwise.”

“You need a brain scan if you think Bucky could possibly take down Captain America.”

“Oh _I’m_ the one who―”

“Reiner!”

I interrupt their little debate as I get up from the couch and sprint towards Reiner. He welcomes me with open arms and picks me up as he hugs me. I swear on my brother his muscles are the size of my head. He hoists me up by my underarms and puts me on top of his shoulders.

“And how’s my favourite little man doing?” he asks me.

“Great, now that you’re here,” I say.

“How come I don’t get that kind of response whenever _I_ come home?” Farlan pitches in.

“’Cause you’re not Reiner,” I tell him.

“And you’re not as good-looking as me,” Reiner adds.

“I _seriously_ doubt that,” Farlan says.

“I’ll take that bet,” Reiner says. “When we go back to school I’ll ask everyone in our grade who is more appealing to the eyes: me or you.”

“You’re on,” Farlan says.

“I thought I heard mischief going on in here.”

Mom emerges from the kitchen, smelling like spice.

“Welcome home, Farlan,” she says.

“Hey, mom.”

“Good to see you, Reiner.”

“You too, Mrs. Kirschtein.”

Reiner and Farlan have been friends since middle school. Like Eren and I, they didn’t really get along with each other at the beginning either. They got into fights at recess, they started a food fight in the cafeteria and would nitpick at each other whenever they got a chance during class. Their teacher would always interject before anything serious happened. You could say they were mortal enemies; but the second that they found out about the other’s passion for superhero movies, they threw aside their differences and became all buddy-buddy with each other. I was just a kid then, but I can remember all the noise they brought into the house. Reiner became my favourite friend of Farlan’s because he would do all the things Farlan wouldn’t do: play with me, make me laugh when I’m upset and even help me with my homework (And he loves kids, so that’s a plus). Whenever Reiner would come over it would be all about him. It is the host’s job to entertain the guest and make him feel welcome, after all. But Reiner feels like family anyway, so there’s no reason really to make him feel welcome; since he’s welcome all the time.

“Well, dinner is just about done. How about you three go sit at the table while I go get your father.”

Reiner puts me back on the ground and we all file into the dining room. I point out Reiner’s chair to him, but before he can sit in it Farlan slips his bony butt onto the cushion.

“That’s Reiner’s seat, Farlan!” I say.

“Really?” he says, getting up and looking at the chair. “I don’t see his name written on it.”

“Doesn’t matter!” I say. “I’m the one who set the table and brought Reiner’s chair in, so I get to say which chair is his!”

“I’m pretty sure _Reiner_ is the one who chooses where he gets to sit his muscly ass down in, not you,” Farlan points out.

“Oh come on, Farlan,” Reiner says. “Jean worked very hard on setting this up. Let the little man do what he wants.”

“Pfft, easy for you to say,” Farlan mutters.

Even though Farlan doesn’t want to do things my way, he doesn’t stop Reiner from sitting down in his assigned seat. I sit down next to him on his left and Farlan takes a seat across from us.

Mom manages to get dad out of his study and he sits down at the end of the table. He exchanges greetings with Reiner, and mom comes into view with a plate of steaks in one hand and a pot of potatoes in the other. Reiner likes to pray before he eats, so we all join hands and say grace before beginning dinner.

There isn’t much dinner talk besides Farlan and Reiner continuing their debate about who’s stronger and/or better than who: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier or Steve Rogers/Captain America. I saw Captain America 2 when it came out back in March of this year, and Farlan went with his friends at a different theatre. I’m not one to voice my opinion on trivial things like movies when my brother can hear, but I am more than willing to discuss it with _my_ friends. We’re friendlier and mature about it. We’re classy like that.

The topic of school is mentioned by my mother of course, and all attention is suddenly on me. I ignore them and continue to eat my food, but eventually I speak when Reiner asks me if I’m excited.

“Eh, I dunno,” I say.

“What do you mean you dunno?” Farlan says. “You either are or you aren’t.”

“I have mixed feelings,” I explain. “I am excited about going to a bigger school with Eren, Armin and Mikasa but that’s about it.”

“What about making _new_ friends?” Reiner suggests.

“Yeah right,” I sigh. “Like that’ll happen.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jeanbo,” mom says. “I’m sure there’ll be lots of kids who would love to be friends with you.”

I look at her like she’s a crazy person, and she then realizes what she did wrong. I wait for the teasing from Farlan and Reiner to start, but to my great surprise neither of them says anything. They just keep eating their steak and salting their potatoes. I breathe a sigh of relief, and the conversation continues.

“Your mom’s right, you know,” Reiner says. “You’re a great little man who deserves to be befriended.”

And just like that my self-esteem rises nearly to 100%. This is the kind of stuff that makes me wonder what kind of person I’d be if Reiner was my brother instead of Farlan. Reiner always knows what to say to make me feel better about myself, while Farlan just worries about himself which is beyond irritating. This time around I think, since it’s a brand new school with a brand new start, I’ll do the best I can as a student, just for Reiner.

“Thanks Reiner,” I say.

“No problem, _Jeanbo_ ,” he smirks.

‘ _No. Nononononononononononononoooooooo._ ’

“Reiner, please, no,” I beg. “Just don’t.”

“But it’s such a cute nickname,” he argues. “I can’t help it.”

“Please?” I say, with the best puppy eyes I can muster. “For me?”

“Jesus, not the look,” he mumbles. He stares me down, intent on getting me to back down, but we both know who the winner will be.

“Oh alright, fine,” he sighs in defeat. “You win.”

I smile triumphantly and pat his shoulder before finishing my dinner.

* * *

Reiner leaves a few hours after dinner, unfortunately. Throughout the entirety of his visit, he played with me and swam with Farlan and me. I asked Reiner to throw me into the pool, and he was more than happy to see through my request. He’s got quite the arms so his throws were long and high. I was lucky to not land on my stomach or back; I’d probably cry if that happened. I had the unpleasant experience of doing a full-frontal belly flop at Trost’s public pool, off of the high dive. The whole left side of my body felt numb, but other than that I was fine. The lifeguard asked if I was okay and a few people looked at me worriedly, especially my mom. When I proved that I could walk, talk and tell the difference between two and five fingers to my mom _and_ the lifeguard, I went right back to swimming.

Reiner left with a hearty goodbye and thanked my parents for dinner and for having him. I didn’t want him to leave, but he has a family of his own so he had to go. He can’t stay with us forever, but I wish he could, as selfish as that sounds. He’s just such an awesome guy and it feels dead and lonely when he’s not around. But sooner or later he’s bound to come by again, hopefully to sleep over too.

I go to bed earlier than usual since I’m so tired from today’s activities with Reiner. Hopefully, maybe, the rest of the summer will be as enjoyable as it was today.

* * *

I never knew the days could go by so fast during the summer. I mean, yeah, it’s lighter during the day and darker at night, but holy moly man the summer went by fast.

Reiner visited a whole bunch of times, thank the good lord. He even slept over like I wanted. The only thing that bothered me was that he teased me about my mom’s nickname for me: Jeanbo. I tried to get him to stop, but with little success. After a while I didn’t mind, and got used to it. From now on, I think he’s gonna call me that. Well, you win some you lose some. I know he’s not _my_ friend that I hang out with all the time, but still. He’s my friend too; I’m just not as close to him as Farlan is. I also spent time with my friends, too. I went over to their houses and they came over to mine. Hopefully after a couple of months of school I’ll have more friends to hang out with.

I went to Walmart with my mom to go school and last minute grocery shopping one week before school. Thank god Farlan didn’t come; that would’ve been a nightmare. We did the food shopping first to get it out of the way. School was more important than food that day. If I have something from last school year that is still intact and useable, I’ll save my mom the money and use it for the next year. But since I’m moving from pre-school to middle school, I’m afraid I might need a few things that I didn’t have the year before. Sorry, mom.

I use the same backpack and pencil case, so my mom buys pencils, pens, erasers, white out, binders, a calculator and what not. When we were done we headed to the checkout, but something caught my eye so I grabbed my mom’s shirt and she stopped. I pointed out what it was and she only smiled and shook her head because she knew how much I wanted it. I just stared at it, while she took it off the shelf and put it into the cart. It was the last one too, so I got a very lucky break. I was so excited about it that I couldn’t stop smiling on the way back home. Sure it would be going on a carpet but I didn’t care one bit. It was my new rug and I was gonna do what I wanted with it. After all that was done and dealt with, I relaxed for the rest of the week, except the day before school of course.

My mom has been throwing question after question at me for the past ten minutes. I thought we already covered this when Reiner came over for dinner all those weeks ago. If we did then she obviously doesn’t remember, but I definitely do.

“How excited are you about school tomorrow, Jean?” she asks.

“Oh, plenty excited,” I say slightly sarcastically. Mom doesn’t notice it and takes my response seriously.

“That’s good to hear!” she says. “And you have every right to be.”

“I know,” I say.

“I don’t know if your mother said this to you Jean,” my dad chimes in. “But you’ll be in a split class.”

“Ha!” Farlan laughs. “Sucker.”

“A split class?” I repeat. “What does that mean?”

“It means that you’ll be sharing a classroom with grade sixes, you dunce,” Farlan explains. My dad gives Farlan a look, and he goes quiet.

“Really?” I sigh. “That feels more intimidating than it needs to be.”

“You’ll be fine, honey,” mom says. “I’m sure the kids will be nice.”

“If I were you,” Farlan starts. “I’d be more concerned about the teachers.”

“Why?”

“’Cause some of ‘em are complete―”

“Some of them have a different outlook on teaching,” dad interrupts.

“That reminds me,” mom says. “Your teacher is a man named Levi.”

Farlan nearly chokes on his chicken balls as he laughs. Once he’s swallowed properly he bursts out laughing, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. He covers his mouth and holds his stomach, clearly amused with the whole thing. What’s so funny about Levi?

“Oh, oh _god_ ,” he finally says. “That old geezer is still working there?”

“He’s _not_ an old geezer, Fanny,” mom says. I snicker at his nickname. “He’s only in his thirties now.”

“But that’s so _old_ ,” Farlan protests, cracking another amused smile.

“Then what does that make us?” dad pipes in. Mom and dad look at Farlan, waiting for an answer. He seems dumbstruck and doesn’t know what to say. So he clears his throat and stuffs some more chicken balls into his mouth before he says something he’ll regret later.

“Anyway,” mom says, eying Farlan one last time before smiling at me. “I met Levi when it was his first day. He’s a very nice man.”

“To _adults_ , maybe,” Farlan mutters.

“Well, if you hadn’t gotten into fights with Reiner all the time he wouldn’t have had to give you detention, Fanny,” mom says. Farlan’s gotten detention before?! This is news to my ears. I snort at the thought of Farlan sitting alone in a classroom, being watched over by this Levi guy. He’s already a great person in my books if he gave my brother detention. Let’s hope I won’t have to endure the same fate.

“So, he’s gonna be teaching two grades at once?” I ask. “Sounds tiresome.”

“He’s a great multi-tasker,” mom explains. “You should see him grade papers during his lunch. It’s unbelievable. And his classroom is always immaculate.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning the guy’s a complete neat freak,” Farlan says. “So make sure you don’t spill your juice unless you want to go to the principal’s office.”

“He’ll do that?!” I say worriedly.

“No, he won’t,” mom assures me. “He’ll just ask you to clean it up and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“But what if it _does_ happen again?”

“Then you better pray for your life.”

“Fanny!”

“What? I got into a bunch of shit for ruin―”

“Fanny, you watch your language!”

“Whoa, sorry.”

“You had better be.”

“Okay well, I think that’s enough school talk for me,” I say as I shove the last of my dinner into my mouth. “I’m gonna go to my room now.”

And without another word from any of us I get up and put my plate in the sink before running up the stairs and slamming my door shut. My god why are our dinners are always so exhausting all the time? Sheesh.

But more important than that, what am I gonna wear to school tomorrow?

I didn’t have time for clothes shopping unfortunately, so I’ll just have to throw something together from the mountainous of clothes piled up in my closet. There’s a bunch of flannel shirts tucked in one corner and a pile of jeans in the other. Random band t-shirts and sweaters are laying on top of them and clothes that’re probably too small are mixed in as well. Well this is just great. So many choices, so little time. I decide to just wear regular black jeans with a red and black flannel with a white undershirt. I was thinking about wearing a hat, but we can’t wear them inside so that kinda sucks. Eh whatever, I’ll wear it anyway. Since I got nothing better to do, I sit in my closet and rummage around, looking at old journals from pre-school and whatever else I can find in there. To my great surprise I find a sheet full of temporary dragon tattoos hidden away in one of my old shoe boxes (you never know when you’ll need one). I am _so_ going to cover myself with these tomorrow. I’ll look rad as hell. Oops; I mean, rad as _heck_.

I grab my school clothes for tomorrow and my tattoos and set them on top of my hope chest before going down the hall to wash up and get ready for bed. I yell downstairs “goodnight” to my parents and they say the same back. I couldn’t care less about Farlan’s response, if he gave one.

“Sweet dreams, you little gremlin!” he yells. “Be sociable!”

“ _Farlan_ , seriously.”

Ah. There it is.

I’m too excited to come up with an equally insulting response at my brother, so I let go of the guard railing and wander back to my room. I strip down to just my underwear and toss myself on my bed. It takes a few minutes, but after tossing and turning tiredly I immediately fall asleep.

* * *

My alarm goes off when it’s supposed to, but I don’t immediately get up. I toss and turn a few times, trying my very best to wake up. And if I don’t wake up then I’ll be late for school, and that won’t be a good impression on my teacher, especially about what I learned about him last night. I look at my clock again and nearly crap myself when I see that my bus will be here in less than fifteen minutes. That isn’t enough time for breakfast, let alone plaster my arms with my tattoos. I jump out of my bed and change into my school clothes before running into the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair. I grab my backpack and stuff it with my school supplies before rushing downstairs to see what I can eat. Mom has toast on a plate with peanut butter and banana slices waiting for me on the table. I thank her and shove it into my mouth. It’s quieter than usual this morning, and I ask mom why that is.

“Your brother got picked up an hour ago,” she explains. Oh right. I forgot Farlan started school today too.

 “Oh,” I say. “That’s nice.”

I look at the clock and I start to panic when I realize the bus will be here any minute. I slap on my shoes and run out the door, only to see a big yellow bus speeding down my street.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I hear the front door close behind me, and I hold my breath as I wait for my mom to begin yelling at me for missing my bus. But it never comes.

I turn around, and my mom is standing there with the driver’s door open along with the door behind it. She smiles slightly, but I know deep down she wants to scream at me for being so lazy. I climb into the backseat without another word and soon enough we’re on our way to school.

We get there when it’s ten minutes before class starts. I hop out of the car and race up the steps and burst through the front doors, sweat dripping down my face. Why did I decide to wear jeans and a long sleeve shirt today? I hear my mom come in after me and smack me over the head while saying something that sounds like “No more peeping fin for view, mister”, but I react to neither. Instead my sole focus is on this kid sitting on one of the benches in the middle of the foyer. I smile wide when I remember Reiner’s words:

_“You’re a great little man who deserves to be befriended.”_

“You’re darn tooting I am.”

The kid looks away from me and I ignore my mother as I begin walking towards him. He hangs his head but I keep going. I’ll make this guy my friend, no matter what. Not only just to make a new friend, but also to show up Farlan and make Reiner proud. He seems nice enough on the outside. He has nice taste in shoes too, since he’s wearing Converse like me, but his are black instead of red like mine. He shies away from me as I plant my feet right in front of him. I hold out my hand, and he glances at it as I introduce myself.

“My name’s Jean. Jean Kirschtein.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for big bro Farlan! I haven't read a fic with him in it yet, so I decided to add him in. I felt like he's a perfect fit to be Jean's older brother. He may not have a horse face, but he does have the same attitude.
> 
> Again, if you see any typos, spelling errors and whatnot please let me know. You'd be saving my sanity.
> 
> Thanks so much for the kudos! It gives me joy that other people are being given joy with cutesy fanfiction.
> 
> Oh, and if y'all were curious if I have a tumblr, I do. My url is the same as my screen name: futurevampiress
> 
> Well, it's third person from here on out people! 
> 
> Go raibh maith agat!


	3. It's Happening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean makes a new friend, and Marco is left embarrassed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This should not have taken three weeks to write. I was feeling shitty the past two weeks so I had no motivation to write but I finally managed to finish. Better late than never.
> 
> I hope this chapter is to your guys' satisfactory needs.

“My name’s Jean. Jean Kirschtein.”

Marco continues to stare at Jean’s hand and his face; after a few seconds something clicks. Kirschtein. Nurse. Mrs. Kirschtein. Jean Kirschtein. Could it be that this Jean guy is Mrs. Kirschtein’s son? Does she even have a son?

Marco takes Jean’s hand in his and shakes firmly. Jean smiles wider at Marco’s response and Marco looks away, a blush tinting his cheeks.

“I’m Marco,” Marco finally says. “Marco Bodt.”

“Nice to meet you, Marco,” Jean replies, letting go of his hand.

“You too,” Marco whispers. Before things can get any more awkward, Mrs. Kirschtein stomps her way over to Jean and grips his shoulders.

“Will you ever listen to your mother?” she chides.

“I was trying to make a new friend, mom,” Jean explains. “Mom, this is Marco. Marco, this is my mom.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Kirschtein says upon seeing Marco. “Nice to meet you, Marco.”

“I-It’s nice to meet you too,” Marco stutters. “If I’m not mistaken, are you the school nurse?”

“Yes dear, I am,” she replies with a smile.

“Then, do you, uh...”

Marco stops himself short. He’s clearly uncomfortable enough with two strangers peering down at him, but the added weight of asking the nurse if she has his factor eight protein is too much for Marco. He looks towards the principal’s door, and anxiously waits for his mother to return to him. Mrs. Kirschtein and Jean continue to look at Marco, albeit a bit solemn; they’re unaware that they’re making Marco uncomfortable, and Marco cannot thank whatever higher power there is when he sees his mother emerge from the principal’s office with Erwin right behind her. Marco gets up immediately and rushes over to his mother and grips her legs.

“Oh, there you are, Marco,” Mrs. Bodt says upon seeing her son.

“I believe he’s just met our head nurse,” Erwin says, nodding his head in Mrs. Kirschtein’s direction, said woman giving Mrs. Bodt a warm smile.

“Oh, you must be Mrs. Kirschtein!” Mrs. Bodt says, walking over to her and holding out her hand, Marco still hiding behind her legs. “I’m Mrs. Bodt.”

“Oh, right,” Mrs. Kirschtein says, taking her hand and shaking it. “You’re the one who called about supplying us with a specific protein for your son.”

Marco covers his ears immediately upon hearing those words. Jean makes a face at what his mother just said and turns towards Marco, only to see that he has his ears covered with his hands, and his face buried in his own mother’s thighs.

Mrs. Bodt rubs the top of Marco’s head as she continues to talk with Mrs. Kirschtein. Jean stands by idly, waiting patiently for his mother to stop talking. He throws a few worried glances at Marco during the discussion, but he doesn’t make a move to go over to him and ask him what’s wrong. Jean’s attention is drawn back to his mother’s conversation with Marco’s mother.

“It expires after a month so I’ll bring in a new one every Monday of the next month,” Mrs. Bodt says.

“Hopefully it will not have to be used at all,” Mrs. Kirschtein says.

“He’s never had to use it before so I’d like to keep it that way,” Mrs. Bodt agrees.

“Momma, are you done now?” Marco mumbles into his mother’s pant leg.

“Yes sweetie, we are,” Mrs. Bodt replies. Marco removes his hands from his ears and lifts his face.

“He’s very particular when it comes to his condition,” Mrs. Bodt explains. “He doesn’t like talking about it and he’d like as little as people possible to know about it but that won’t last for very long.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Bodt,” Mrs. Kirschtein says. “We’ll keep it on the down low.”

“I’ll have to inform Levi though,” Erwin says. Marco looks up at him like he’s ready to cry. “It’s just so he won’t worry about your lack of participation during gym if you were to not do as much as the others.”

“Okay,” Marco whispers sadly.

“It’ll be alright, Marco,” Mrs. Bodt says, kneeling to face her son. “I’ll be here if anything goes wrong, as well as Mrs. Kirschtein.”

“And you’ll also have Jean to look after you during class too,” Mrs. Kirschtein points out, to which Jean gives a reassuring smile to Marco, who returns it, albeit weakly.

“Mrs. Bodt, you don’t begin your classes until after morning recess, so you’re welcome to stay in the teacher’s lounge while you wait,” Erwin says.

“Thank you very much,” Mrs. Body says, standing up straight.

“I’ll be in the nurse’s office the whole day, Jean,” Mrs. Kirschtein says. “Unless something happens, of course.”

“’Kay,” Jean replies.

“Morning announcements are about to begin,” Erwin starts. “Mrs. Kirschtein, Mrs. Bodt, you two can go to your respected spaces and I’ll take Marco and Jean to their class and explain why they’re late.”

“Thank you, Erwin,” Mrs. Kirschtein says. She gives Jean a kiss on the head and turns around to go to her office.

“I’ll be right in there if you need anything, honey,” Mrs. Bodt says to Marco, pointing in the direction of the teacher’s lounge. “After morning recess, you’ll have to ask Mr. Smith where I am.”

“Okay, momma,” Marco says, twirling his fingers in his shirt.

“You’ll be fine, _draga_ ,” she says before kissing his forehead and disappearing into the teacher’s lounge, leaving Marco to Erwin. The morning bell rings at that moment, signalizing the start of the school day.

“Alrighty boys,” Erwin announces. “Let’s get you to your class.” Marco and Jean nod in agreement and they follow Erwin up the stairs to their classroom. The anthem began to play while they were outside their classroom door, so they waited until it was finished. Before either boy could go into the room, Erwin kneels down to give them some advice.

“Just a little heads-up about Levi,” he begins. “He is what most people like to call a clean freak.”

“That’s what my brother said,” Jean interrupts. “He said that if you spill your juice he’ll send you to the office.”

Erwin chuckles.

“It is true that he would be upset, as any teacher would,” Erwin explains. “But he won’t send you to the office, no matter how mad he is.”

“Well that’s a relief.”

“I’m sure it is,” Erwin agrees. “Moving on, he likes things clean and proper so try to keep your notes and desk organized as best you can. He likes to keep the day’s schedule posted on the chalkboard, so if you’re even wondering what he has in store just look at the board. If you go up and ask him, he’ll just roll his eyes and point to the board. So, try not to do that often.”

Jean and Marco are given a few seconds to take in what Erwin just said before Erwin continues on.

“Now, it is school policy that hats are not to be worn during class.” He pauses to give a sideways glance at Jean, who takes off his hat immediately. “I, however, have no problem with it. You can wear it outside all you want and in the hallways and cafeteria. Some teachers don’t mind either, but Levi is one of those guys that think it’s disrespectful. So don’t wear them during class and you’ll be fine.”

“Lastly, the one thing that’ll make him smile to some extent is to clean up when he doesn’t ask you to. That includes washing the chalkboards.”

“And that’ll get us on his good side?” Jean ask, his smile growing.

“Well, that, and your behaviour during class,” Erwin replies. “So be sure to be quiet and attentive when he speaks, and be diligent when you’re working. He hates to waste valuable time.”

“Awesome,” Jean says more to himself. “Sounds easy enough.”

“Okay, that should do it,” Erwin says upon standing back up. “Do you have any questions?”

“How is he about lateness?” Jean asks in a worried voice.

“Normally, he’d make a face like a child does when they get scolded and he’ll ask you why you’re late. If it’s not a good enough reason or you don’t have a note he’ll just ask you to stay behind during recess to help him clean.”

“Really?”

“It’s his own form of punishment,” Erwin explains. “But if your reason is valuable he’ll excuse you.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Speaking of which, I better get you two in there before he freaks out that two students are missing. Marco, do you have any questions?” Both Jean and Erwin look at Marco expectantly; when Erwin thinks he has nothing to say, Marco speaks in a soft voice.

“What’s his last name?”

Erwin raises an eyebrow and smiles, as he’s been asked this question so many times before.

“It’s for personal reasons,” he says. “But he doesn’t want people to know his last name for his own good, and his family’s. It’s nothing to worry about. As long as you call him by his first name you should be fine.”

Marco nods his head, as does Jean and Erwin finally knocks on Levi’s classroom door before entering.

Levi is dressed in black slacks with a white dress shirt and a cravat hanging around his neck. His glasses sit low on his nose, and he pushes them up annoyingly before glaring at Erwin for interrupting his roll call.

“In what universe does someone think they can come into my classroom after just knocking?” Levi scowls, and the class giggles. “Wait until I come to the door, _Mr. Smith_.”

“I’ll remember to do that next time, _Levi_ ,” Erwin smirks. “I’ve brought you two more students.”

Levi looks down at Jean and Marco, before giving Erwin another disapproving look.

“And why are they late?”

“I was having a chat with Marco’s mother, and Jean happened to be inconvenienced by his,” Erwin explains, pointing out each boy.

“I see.”

Silence follows afterward, with Erwin and Levi still looking at each other intently. Marco looks around the room, and Erwin wasn’t kidding when he said Levi likes to keep things clean and proper. The books in the bookshelf in the back corner were all brand new and stacked according to author. The floors were shining from a fresh wax and the desks smelt of Clorox wipes. The chalkboards were black as night and the window sparkled as the sunlight shone through. Hell, even Levi’s shoes were shined to perfection. Marco hears his name called and he looks at Levi and sees that he’s looking at him.

“Take your seat please, Marco,” he says. “Unfortunately it was first come first serve so you’ll have to be stuck beside Jean.” The class giggles again and Marco takes his seat beside Jean while Levi excuses himself to talk with Erwin. Marco knows exactly what they’re going to be talking about, and Jean does too, much to Marco’s dismay.

The class is murmuring quietly before Levi returns to the class; Marco sees Levi smack Erwin’s hand away but his mouth quirks up into a barely noticeable smile before closing the door.

“Okay, now that Mr. Duckface is gone—“ The class laughs. “—let’s get back to roll call.”

Levi decides to begin again and pays attention to the faces associated with each name. When he gets to Jean, he stops and makes a grumpy face at his name.

“Jean _Kirschtein_ ,” Levi says, putting emphasis on his last name.

“Here!” Jean calls.

“I had your brother as a student,” Levi reveals as he puts a “P” beside Jean’s name. “It was a nightmare.”

The class turns their heads in Jean’s direction, Marco included. Jean looks embarrassed and rubs the side of his ear, something he does when he’s put on the spot. He laughs nervously before saying anything.

“Ha ha, yeah. I promise I won’t be as much of a bother as Fanny was.”

“’Fanny’?” Levi repeats. “I haven’t thought of that name in years.”

“What?” Jean says. “How do you know that that’s his nickname?”

“’Cause I’m the one who gave it to the nitwit.”

Jean is awe-struck and cannot contain himself as he begins to giggle. It starts out as a little throaty chuckle, but it progresses to tear-stricken laugh that makes Levi give him a dirty look.

“And what is so funny, Mr. Kirschtein?” Levi asks, tucking his glasses inside his pocket.

“I-It’s just t-that… wheeew! I never knew _you_ were the one who nicknamed my brother ‘Fanny’,” Jean explains through his laughter. “I just thought that my mom did that to make him angry.”

“Did it work?”

“Of course.”

“Good. That’s my life-long punishment for his unacceptable behaviour in my classroom.”

“Next time he picks me up from you’ll have to go see him,” Jean smiles mischievously. “I’m sure he’d _love_ to see you again.”

“And I him,” Levi agrees. “I’ll have to use that name as well to remind him what happens when you think it’s hilarious to light a piece of paper on fire with a Bunsen burner.”

“Oh, please do,” Jean says. “As many times as you want.”

“I will.” And Jean can tell from Levi’s tone of voice that he will _definitely_ use Farlan’s nickname to address him the next time Levi and Farlan should meet. Levi finishes his roll call before he finally begins class.

* * *

By lunchtime, Marco has learned a few things. One: Jean is in grade five. A year below him; which is hard to believe because of his boldness to talk with Levi in such a calm manner. Two: Levi is mildly sarcastic and has prefect handwriting (which Marco can read thankfully). Three: the school gives out maps of each level so no students get lost, if that were to happen. Four: Jean likes to doodle a lot. And five: his class will be going to the gym after lunch recess. Dread fills Marco’s stomach and he doesn’t eat anymore of his nutella and peanut butter sandwich.

* * *

Jean has learned some things as well. One: Levi likes to keep a close eye on him because of his brother, despite the hearty conversation the two had. Two: Marco is in grade six, which should be surprising, but Jean finds that he isn’t; he should have expected that anyway. Three: he couldn’t read jack shit of Levi’s handwriting so he had to ask some random kid sitting beside him to borrow his note. Four: he was sweating up a storm in his jeans and flannel. And five: Levi hates his glasses. The last realization becomes apparent when Levi’s pushing them up angrily on the bridge of his nose and they fall off his face, the lens cracking on the floor, and Levi yelling “You good for nothing shit specs!”

* * *

Marco spends his lunch recess sitting on one of the benches in the back, reading a book he brought to school. His reading level is a little higher than the average twelve year old so he’s able to read things like teen fiction with more complex words and deeper meanings, among other things. Marco feels at ease when he’s reading, like the nerd he knows he is; the only time he’s prevented from reading is when his parents want him or when it’s time to eat. It happens quite a bit at home, so Marco is glad that no one will bother him at school, where no one really knows him. At least, that’s what he _thought_.

“Whatcha readin’?”

Marco jumps, dropping his book in the process. His heart pounds in his chest, his forehead dripping with sweat. He turns around, and he sees Jean looming over his shoulder with a giant grin on his face.

“Sorry if I scared you.”

Marco stares at Jean, mumbling about something about not being scared, just startled. Jean hops over the bench and picks up Marco’s book, and brushes off the dust and dirt before handing it back to its owner. Marco takes it with a silent “thank you” and flips through the pages to find his place. He continues to read where he left off, completely ignoring Jean; Jean takes a seat next to him, swinging his feet back and forth. He rocks his head side to side, humming quietly. Marco glances at him, and notices a scrape on his cheek.

“What happened to your face?” Marco asks.

Jean stops humming and smiles cheekily at Marco.

“Why? You worried about me?”

Marco blushes and pouts as he looks away.

“It’s just a question,” he mumbles. Jean decides to discontinue teasing Marco and instead answers him like a normal human being.

“I ran into a wall.”

Marco snorts, and he quickly covers his mouth, looking at Jean with apologetic eyes.

“Go on and laugh, I don’t care,” Jean says, looking up to the sky. “It was pretty funny at the time.”

“But why would you run into a wall?” Marco presses, closing his book and setting it down beside him.

“Dunno,” Jean replies. “I guess I was running and I didn’t stop fast enough.”

“So you ended up getting a scrape on your face because you were running, and you couldn’t stop fast enough so you ended up colliding with a wall.”

“Pretty much,” Jean smiles, folding his arms behind his head. Marco shakes his head.

“You should get that checked out before it gets infected,” Marco says.

“Yeah.”

Marco ignores him again and returns to his book. The two sit in silence for a few moments before Jean speaks up again.

“You never answered my question,” he says. Marco glances sideways at him, but focuses on reading.

“What question?”

“About what you’re reading.”

Marco turns his body sideways and holds up the cover of the book instead of telling Jean. Jean squints at the title, and goes wide-eyed before becoming confused.

“Why is the cover on the wrong side?”

Marco sighs and closes his book before explaining himself.

“It’s manga,” Marco begins. When Jean raises an eyebrow and shrugs his shoulders, Marco continues. “It’s Japanese. The Japanese read right-to-left instead of left-to-right. That’s why the cover is on the opposite side.”

“You can read Japanese?!” Jean exclaims. Marco shakes his head.

“It’s translated into English. See.”

Marco opens his manga and shows Jean the text, which is clearly printed in English. Jean makes an “oh” sound and nods his head in understanding. He suddenly gets excited again, and Marco can’t help but cringe away when Jean claps his hands together.

“You’re reading the book—well, I guess _manga_ —of one of my favourite shows!”

A smile creeps onto Marco’s face, no matter how hard he tries to suppress it. He turns to Jean, said boy raising his eyebrows at Marco’s newfound happiness.

“ _Inuyasha_ is one of your favourite shows?” Marco asks carefully.

“You bet!” Jean smiles. Marco decides to amuse him for a bit.

“How far are you?”

“Uhm, I just finished the episode when that Koga guy comes in.”

“Oh, I’m way past that.”

“What? How far are _you_?

“I’m nearly done the whole manga. I know everything that happens.”

“Dude!”

Marco and Jean continue their conversation, the both of them getting more and more excited as they argue over which character is better than whom, and what should have been done instead of what actually happened. Marco feels relieved that he’s able to talk to someone like this; he wasn’t able to before at his primary school. No one was into it as much as Marco was, so being able to let out his emotions and opinions that he’s built up for years like this is satisfying. They get onto the topic of characters again, and Jean, being the dramatic character that he is, falls off the bench and onto the ground when Marco tells him that he likes Miroku over Inuyasha.

“How can you say that?” Jean says. “Every time Miroku uses his Wind Tunnel he’s basically killing himself!”

“Inuyasha just barely escapes dying!” Marco protests. “Especially on the nights of the New Moon.”

“Oooooh do _not_ even start with the New Moon, Marco!” Jean warns, pointing an accusing finger in his face. “Just… do _not_ go there.”

“Oh, but I went there,” Marco smugly replies.  

“You’ll regret saying that,” Jean smirks, sitting back down on the bench.

“And just what do you think you’ll do?” Marco challenges.

“Well I won’t hit you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jean reassures him. Marco stills and looks down at his feet. Jean senses his discomfort and changes the subject quickly.

“So, uh, how’s your day been?”

Marco looks up at him and shrugs his shoulders, mumbling out a “fine”. Jean can feel the conversation going nowhere, so he tries to think of something to pick it back up. He plays it safe and decides to learn more about Marco.

“So,” he begins, “what else do you do besides read manga?”

Marco plays along with Jean’s 21 questions, and gives some thought into his answers before giving them to Jean.

“I don’t do much, to be honest,” Marco says. “I just read most of the time.”

“Really?” Jean says. “You don’t go out to the park or listen to music or go out with your friends?”

“Well,” Marco beings, “I just moved here so I don’t know any people. I have no reason to go out unless my parents do something and can’t leave me home alone, and I occasionally listen to a wide range of music.”

“Like what?” Jean presses, clearly interested.

“Things like French, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Swedish—“

“Whoa wait, what?” Jean interrupts. “Do you know what they’re saying?”

“Of course not,” Marco replies, huffing out a dry laugh. “Well, I guess I understand some French songs but not all of them.”

“So you speak French.” Jean says it as more of a statement, rather than a question; Marco nods. “That’s so cool.”

“It’s only a little bit though,” Marco adds.

“A little or not you can speak French,” Jean smiles, deadpanning him.

Marco returns it, rubbing the sides of his arms. He remembers Levi saying that recess ends at 12:45pm, and according to his watch, it is ten minutes before the bell was supposedly to ring. Marco picks up his manga and brushes the cover and backside before standing up to walk around for a bit. Jean follows after him and continues asking questions, to which Marco doesn’t mind.

“Got any siblings?”

“Nope. Only child.”

“Any pets?”

“My dad’s allergic to dogs and my momma doesn’t like scratches on the floor or fur on the furniture.”

“Favourite colour?”

“Yellow.”

“Favourite number?”

“Twelve.”

“Favourite movie?”

“Too many to count.”

“Then just give one of ‘em.”

“Thor.”

“Favourite song?”

Marco had to stop and think about that one. There was a multitude of songs he could choose from; there were English songs, Asian songs and European songs. Did Jean want a song based on the best lyrics or instruments? The meaning behind the lyrics maybe? Or perhaps a random song of a band he really likes? Whatever Jean wanted, Marco gave him the first thing that popped into his mind.

“Iridescent, by Linkin Park,” Marco smiles.

“I’ve never heard that song before,” Jean says.

“You’ll have to give a listen to it sometime then,” Marco suggests.

“Maybe,” Jean says.

“It’s a really good song,” Marco assures him. “The lyrics sound a little sad, but it’s really good, I promise.”

“Alright, Marco,” Jean begins, “I’ll give it a listen.”

“Great.”

The bell rings and Jean and Marco return to their classroom in silence.

* * *

Levi is rambling about something to do with safety precautions while in the gymnasium when the heat finally gets to Jean. He removes his flannel and places it on the back of his chair and rolls up the bottom of his jeans. The cool air of the classroom hits Jean’s skinny arms, and he lets out a sigh of relief. Levi signals the class to line up at the door and they all follow suit. He tells the last person in line to turn off the lights and they head off to the gym.

Marco can feel his breath hitch in his throat a few times and he tries his best to remain calm. His mother was still somewhere in the school, as was Jean’s mother, in case anything happens; Jean was there too, but there was probably not much he could do if something _did_ happen to Marco, besides staring wide-eyed and freaking out. Surely nothing will happen, Marco tells himself. Everything’s going to be okay. They arrive at the gym on the ground floor; there’s no one in foyer, nor does it look like there’s going to be. Levi instructs his class to go inside, regardless of changing their clothes. He tells them that they’ll be doing simple exercises and a game to wake up their muscles. He pulls Marco aside before he goes in.

“If you feel like you can’t do anything or you feel you might hurt yourself, don’t hesitate to sit out,” he says. “And don’t listen to whatever your classmates may say. I’ll deal with them if that happens.”

“Merci,” Marco whispers before hurrying inside the gym doors. Levi wonders why he answered him in French, but he brushes it off before going inside himself.

“Alright,” Levi begins, clapping his hands together for attention, “do three laps around the gym to get yourselves warmed up.”

Everybody does as they’re told, and they start running. Jean is glad he decided to ditch his flannel, ‘cause the gym is a little stuffy. He keeps an eye on Marco, making sure he’s alright. He doesn’t know exactly what’s going on with him based on their mother’s conversation that morning, but he knows that Marco doesn’t like to talk about it so Jean won’t ask him about it until he’s ready.

Marco is out of breath once he’s finished running, as are his classmates. Levi gives them some time to catch their breath before moving on to the next thing.

“Okay,” he starts, rolling up his sleeves, “I want you to do what I do. This isn’t “Simon Says”, you’re simply copying me. Got it?” The class nods their heads simultaneously and Levi stands in the middle of the gym to lead in stretching.

“Be as tall as you can be!” Levi says, raising his arms above his head. The class copies him and they too raise their arms above their heads. This continues on with being as wide, small and skinny as they can be. Levi has them take a deep breath in and out before beginning their activity.

“We’re going to start off by playing King’s Court,” he says, “I’ll explain the rules for those of you who don’t know the game after I get the balls out.” Levi opens the storage closet as the class talks amongst themselves. Jean walks over to Marco, who’s as pale as a sheet of paper and looks like he’s going to be sick.

“You okay, Marco?” Jean asks. Marco responds by nodding slowly, his eyes strained on the floor. They hear a bouncing sound, so they turn towards the storage closet and they see Levi throwing white balls onto the gym floor. Six balls in total are brought out and Levi sanitizes his hands with his portable bottle of hand sanitizer before calling for silence.

“King’s Court is a version of dodge ball,” he says, “but I’m going to modify it a bit so no one gets hurt.”

Levi explains the rules and gives a demonstration before splitting the class into two teams. Jean and Marco are on the same team, but Marco is at the opposite end of the gym behind the opposing team, to try and catch the ball. Once everyone is situated, Levi squeezes his squistle around his neck and the game begins.

* * *

In the end, Levi modified it so no one would have to use the balls to hit each other. He didn’t want Marco to be hurt on his first day, so he spared him the worry; although Marco still looked pretty shaken up during the game. He stayed in one of the corners and ducked whenever a ball was thrown in his direction. Jean was mainly the one who wanted Marco to catch a ball so he could come to his side, but he had little success. Either one of the kids on the other team would catch the ball before Marco could or Marco wouldn’t attempt to catch any balls at all. Even though the balls were soft and squishy, Marco didn’t want to risk anything so he avoided them as much as possible. Levi didn’t say anything about it since he knew about Marco’s condition, but Jean was bothered greatly. He asked Marco in the nicest way possible why he didn’t try to catch any balls he threw to him, and Marco answered that he didn’t want to hurt himself. He wasn’t going to offer any more, so Jean dropped the subject and they headed back to class in silence (although Jean did complain about the amount of sweat he built up).

The day ended peacefully. Levi didn’t yell at anyone for spilling their juice box and Marco spent last recess reading while Jean played with his friends (that he still needed to introduce to Marco, by the way). Jean tied his flannel around his waist the rest of the day, not wanting it to wrinkle on his chair. At one point, Marco removed his sweater vest and tucked it away in his bag. All the classrooms are air conditioned, so no one suffered from a heat stroke. Before they lined up for the buses, Levi gave each of his students their bus number so they can look for their leader when they go outside. Coincidentally, Jean and Marco were on the same bus.

As soon as Levi’s students leave, he brings out his Clorox wipes from one of his desk drawers and begins to disinfect every desk and then wash the chalkboards. It’s his ritual routine after a school day, and he is not about to discontinue this cycle, no matter who decides to annoy him at the end of the day. It seems that Erwin was too busy to bother him, so Levi was able to clean his classroom in peace.

Jean and Marco head to their bus leader, neither of them seeing their mothers on the way. Their leader is holding a sign with the number nine printed on it. Their leader introduces herself as Sorcha, a grade eight girl with waist-length blonde hair and forehead bangs and a one-strap satchel type backpack. She seems exhausted, but she smiles anyway to make her bus people feel comfortable. Jean and Marco stand beside each other, Jean with his hat on backwards and his hands shoved in his jean pockets while Marco continues to read his manga. Sorcha looks down at the two out of boredom, and her eyes widen when she sees what Marco is reading. Jean notices her reaction, and stares at her to wait for more. She looks away and bites her bottom lip, as if she’s preventing herself from saying anything. She fails, however, and Marco nearly drops his manga when she kneels down and begins drilling him with questions.

“Who’s your favourite character? Who do you want to be killed by Naraku? Do you like where the plot is going? Do you like Kikyo? I hate Kikyo. She’s such a little obsessive bi—“

“Are you sure you want to finish that sentence, Sorcha?”

Sorcha is interrupted by Erwin’s calm voice, although she can hear the warning tone to it. She stands up straight and turns around to look up at Erwin, who has a small smile on his face and an eyebrow raised. Sorcha forces a smile of her own and apologizes quietly and bows afterward. Both Jean and Marco look at her weirdly, and Erwin leaves just as quickly as he came and Sorcha straightens up before apologizing to Marco in the same way she did Erwin.

“Why are you bowing?” Jean asks. Sorcha looks up at Jean before answering.

“Because it seems more respectful,” she says. “Just saying ‘sorry’ doesn’t do it for me. It doesn’t feel genuine unless you show that you’re sorry, if you know what I mean.”

“Makes sense,” Jean says.

“Miroku, no one at the moment, yes and no.”

Sorcha and Jean look at Marco with curious eyes, but Sorcha knows what he’s talking about and replies before Jean can register what’s going on.

“Sesshomaru, Kagura, yes and no.”

Jean has no idea what’s going on, and he looks back and forth at Marco and Sorcha as they have a mental conversation with their eyes. Just what the hell was happening right now?

“Uh, anyone wanna clue me in?” Jean eventually speaks up. Neither Marco nor Sorcha look to him, but Marco answers him.

“Maybe you should start reading the manga, Jean,” he says.

“Uhm, okay?”

Nothing more is said as their bus comes rolling into the parking lot. Sorcha gives her sign number to a nearby teacher and leads her bus people to their bus. Marco puts his manga back into his bag; he gets nauseous while reading in a moving vehicle. There’s only about fourteen of them, but once the bus gets moving and on the road, it seems like there’s thirty.

The older grades sit at the back and they’re rowdy as hell. Marco sits where he was this morning, while Jean takes a seat behind him on the opposite side. They both look behind them whenever the kids at the back yell or laugh really loud, and Jean rolls his eyes while Marco does his best to ignore it.

A few students are dropped off before Jean’s stop arrives. He gathers his things and waves at Marco and gives a cheery “See ya, Marco!” to which Marco replies with a quiet goodbye and blushes as he looks away. That only makes Jean smile wider, and Marco blush harder. Marco watches Jean depart and disappear behind his giant oak door. Marco arrives at his house about ten minutes later, his body sluggish and his mind a hurricane of thoughts; mostly about Jean. Marco isn’t used to having someone as smiley and energetic as Jean around him all day. His friends back in Jinae are more quiet and reserved, despite the fact that most kids are hyper and loud. Maybe a change of pace will be good for Marco; he just made a new friend, didn’t he?

Well, _Jean_ certainly thinks so.

* * *

Jean kicks off his dewy Converse, abandoning them at the front door. He enters the kitchen and tosses his bag down on an island stool and sits down on another one, resting his head on his arms. He breaths out deeply before pumping his fists in the air, shouting “Yes!” and rests his head on the island again. His dad emerges from his study and greets Jean before going into the fridge to prepare a late afternoon sandwich. Jean returns the greeting and Mr. Kirschtein can sense a change in behaviour within his son. He casts a few glances over his shoulder, and every time, he sees Jean with a dopey smile on his face. Like a normal father would, Mr. Kirschtein asks his son how school went. And Jean was more than eager to reply.

“I made a new friend!” he shouts. “Well, I _think_ I made a new friend,” he adds quietly.

“Is that so?” Mr. Kirschtein says as he slices up a tomato.

“You bet!” Jean says as he takes off his hat and unties his flannel from around his waist. He feels the sweat seeping through it, and he makes a disgusted noise as he sets it aside.

“What’s your new friend like?” Mr. Kirschtein asks while buttering his bread.

“Well,” Jean begins as he swivels around in his stool, “he’s a year older than me, not to mention he’s taller too, but only by one or two inches. He’s got dark hair with an undercut and freckles on his face and arms from what I could tell. And he was wearing the same shoes as me!”

“Really?” Mr. Kirschtein says in a slightly over exaggerated tone. Jean takes no notice of it.

“His were black, though,” Jean explains. “But they were still Converse.”

“That’s nice,” Mr. Kirschtein replies, taking a bite of his tomato and tuna sandwich.

“And he’s also reading the manga version of one of my favourite shows!”

“’Manga’?”

 “Yeah, manga. It’s Japanese comics, but not really. Anyway, he was reading it during lunch recess and we started talking about it. He was shy the whole morning and didn’t really talk much but once we started talking about his manga he actually smiled!”

“He didn’t smile before?” Mr. Kirschtein asks, raising an eyebrow.

“He smiled a little bit before, but—“

“Jesus. Christ,” comes a new voice. “Whoever’s yelling _shut the hell up_.”

Farlan enters into the kitchen; he’s got himself wrapped in a burrito with his duvet, and he looks grumpy with his tired eyes and sloppy frown. Jean’s yelling had obviously waked him up from his nap, and Jean then smirks deviously to himself, remembering something from earlier that day.

“You know how Levi is my teacher, dad?” Jean asks, not taking his eyes off of his brother.

“I do now.”

“ _Weeeeell_ , we got on to the topic of Farlan and he happened to tell me that he nicknamed him ‘Fanny’.”

Jean seems pretty pleased with himself as Farlan’s eyes widen and his frown deepens. He whips his duvet onto the kitchen floor whilst yelling “That vertically challenged good-for-nothing ass licker!” but he quickly retrieves his blanket of warmth to wrap it around his half-naked body. Jean howls with laughter and their dad only gives a roll of his eyes before returning to his study, leaving Jean and Farlan to each other.

“I’m gonna kill that bastard,” Farlan mutters, ripping open the fridge door to grab some banana pudding.

“The damage has already been done, _Fanny_ ,” Jean smiles tiredly, giving his brother a pleased look. Farlan glares at him, and rips open his pudding and shoves a spoonful into his mouth. Jean simply taps his fingers on the cold granite, smiling slightly. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Farlan eating his pudding and Jean diddling around with the fake fruit in the bowl on the island.

“You say anything to any one of my friends and I’ll fucking slaughter you,” Farlan suddenly speaks up, Jean flinching at his aggressiveness.

“Okay I won’t, jeez,” Jean replies, getting up to gather his things.

“I mean it, brat,” Farlan warns. “Not even Reiner knows and it’s fucking embarrassing for your teacher to give you a nickname that your own _mother_ _uses for you_.”

“I already said I wouldn’t, Fanny, calm down,” Jean sighs, picking up his bag and flannel to bring to his room.

“I swear if you—“

“I _won’t_ , Farlan,” Jean growls, fed up with his brother’s un-trustworthy attitude. Jean doesn’t give him any opportunity to reply as he exits the kitchen to go up to his room to toss his things through the door, before returning downstairs to watch some tv in the living room.

* * *

Marco drags himself through his front door, kicks off his shoes and plops down on his living room couch. His dad hears the door slam shut, so he gets up from the kitchen island and takes a seat next to Marco. Marco looks over at him, then down at his hands as he twirls his fingers in his shirt. Mr. Bodt is used to his son’s behaviour when he’s feeling down or uneasy, and he knows exactly what to do to make Marco feel better.

“Popcorn?”

Marco smiles and nods his head, and Mr. Bodt pats Marco’s head before getting up to make some popcorn. Popcorn has been Marco’s comfort food since the second grade. The sweet buttery taste and the soft texture of the popped kernels always seemed to calm both Marco and his stomach. Whenever he was feeling sad or just wanted something to soothe his stomach, Marco would ask for popcorn; and it seemed to do the trick every time.

Mr. Bodt brings back the popcorn in a steel bowl, and places it between himself and Marco and turns on the tv. They sit in silence as they eat, the only sound being the characters from _Teen Titans_ comingfrom the speakers and the swishing of the popcorn being pushed around in the bowl. As thirteen minutes pass, Mr. Bodt begins his questioning.

“How was school, bud?” he asks.

“Fine,” Marco mumbles, stuffing some more popcorn into his mouth.

“What happened?”

“Not much.”

“Did you make any new friends?”

“…Maybe.”

“That’s great, Marco. What’re they like?”

“He’s loud.”

“Is that it? C’mon, Marco. I know you can do better than that.”

“Well…”

Marco begins slowly, describing what Jean looks like, how he dressed and how he behaved. Soon enough he’s found himself rambling about everything that he said and did; how he smiled at him when Jean was getting dropped off at his house, how interested he was in Marco’s manga, how he annoyingly asked him if he was alright all day and about Levi having nicknamed Jean’s brother. Mr. Bodt nods and smiles as he listens to his son speak; whenever he sees Marco happy, he’s happy.

“And then our bus leader noticed my manga and then _she_ started throwing question after question at me,” Marco explains as he finishes off the popcorn.

“Well it sounds like you had a good day,” Mr. Bodt comments.

“Guess you could say so,” Marco agrees.

Mr. Bodt gets up again and brings the empty popcorn bowl to the kitchen and puts it in the sink. Marco follows after him and sits down on one of the island chairs.

“When will momma be home?” he asks. Mr. Bodt looks at the clock on the microwave before answering him.

“In about an hour, more or less,” he says. Marco nods his head in understanding and rests his chin on his hands. Mr. Bodt leans against the kitchen counter, and crosses his arms.

“Did you meet with the school nurse?” he asks gently. Marco sighs quietly, and mutters a “yes”. “Did your mother give it to her?”

“Pretty sure,” Marco says. “I didn’t see her give it to her, but she probably did.”

“That’s good to hear.” Marco shuffles in his seat and looks around absentmindedly. Mr. Bodt can see the discomfort in his son, given what he just asked him. Mr. Bodt is fully aware of Marco’s behaviour when he’s asked about things regarding his hemophilia; avoiding eye contact, twirling his fingers in his shirt, hiding behind his mother and staying quiet are the most common actions that Marco does regarding the topic, or when he feels embarrassed or uncomfortable. To avoid having Marco feel this way, Mr. Bodt changes the topic.

“What do you want for dinner tonight?”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Mr. Bodt doesn’t say anymore and leaves Marco to do what he wants before Mrs. Bodt returns home.

* * *

The next day leaves Jean feeling chipper and excited. He remembered to splatter his arms with his temporary tattoos the night before after dinner, and was smart enough to wear a short-sleeved shirt with shorts. It took serious digging through his mess of a closet, but Jean was able to find the shirt he was looking for: all black, with a very clear print of _Inuyasha_ holding his Tetsusaiga with a smug look on his face. Jean is intent on being friends with the older freckled loner, but he was going to be as gentle as possible with his approaches. He noticed that Marco would wince slightly or back away when Jean was being too loud. Jean isn’t sure that Marco even _wants_ to be friends with him, but based on their interactions the day before, Marco seemed a little ambivalent but overall keen on being Jean’s friend (at least in _Jean’s_ mind). And that was good enough for him.

* * *

Marco is a little more nervous that morning, mostly just paranoia about accidentally hurting himself. But Levi had assured him that he can sit out during gym if need be, and both his mother and Jean’s mother would be there if anything _did_ happen. He has been reminded a bunch of times, so he should have nothing to worry about. This thought puts Marco at ease, but the anxiety still sits in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

Marco is one of the last people to get off of the bus upon arrival at school. He dressed more appropriately to the weather, sporting a mahogany polo with dark khaki shorts. Once he steps off the bus he hears his name being called. He looks up at the double doors and sees Jean smiling and waving at him. He notices his _Inuyasha_ shirt and tattooed arms, and smiles to himself. He waves back, and goes inside thinking that today won’t be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Draga" is Romanian for "darling", just a little translating note.
> 
> Firstly, thank you for the kudos and for that "Perfect!" comment. That really made me happy. I really hope I didn't disappoint this time around. I have all my ideas written down, I just need to find a way to put them into words. And if any of you guys have any ideas, feel free to pitch them to me!
> 
> And yes. Jean and Marco are little manga/anime dweebs that are obsessed with Inuyasha. I was thinking about switching Inuyasha with another anime, but I watched it when I was a kid and I remember it the most and I feel like the two of them would go ham on the subject. So. Inuyasha.
> 
> At my own leisure I'll track the tag "fic: IDS" on tumblr if y'all wanna comment on anything or do whatever. My tumblr is futurevampiress.
> 
> I'm still laughing at this one idea I have jfc. That'll /definitely/ be a scene that I'll enjoy writing.


	4. Layouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I regret to inform you that this isn't a chapter update, but I'd like to give you guys some idea about what certain things look like. Mainly Marco's room, Jean's room and Eren's room, along with the layout of the school. 
> 
> The actual chapter will be up once I get my ass on the computer and just go ham on the keyboard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up: this chapter was in Marco's POV and the second chapter will be in Jean's POV. After Jean's POV it'll be in third person from that point on. I just wanted you guys to have some background information about their home lives and how they behave around people.
> 
> I hope that this'll turn out nicely, and that there are not too many typos or missing italics because that just pisses me the hell off. Incorrect grammar is an instant turn off for me, if I see that it's my grammar. I may cringe a bit at misspelled words or if I see one too many words at other people's fics but other than that I suffer in silence. So, please, for the sake of my sanity, tell me if you see anything that looks wrong or sounds weird or typos or anything related to those things. It would save me the time of hitting myself for making juvenile mistakes.
> 
> The rating will change later on, 'cause a bunch of shit is gonna happen. And I ain't saying what.
> 
> I hope y'all liked this chapter and that you'll read Jean's POV (which will be up soon enough)!


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